


Payback

by HanksLady



Category: Before We Die (TV series)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:01:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 40,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27452395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HanksLady/pseuds/HanksLady
Summary: From Swedish crime drama series "Before We Die."Davor Mimica develops an unwanted desire for rival gang president, Petter Hill. When the perfect opportunity presents itself for him to test the water, he finds the result surprising, and impossible to walk away from. When the situation between the Mimica Family and the Mobsters motorcycle gang heats up, Davor has to choose between his own family, and the object of his desire. Written mostly from Davor's POV except for one chapter.Characters:The Mimica Family - Dubravka (mother), Zvonomir (uncle), Davor (son), Blanka (sister)Christian - employed by the Mimicas, also working for the policePawel and Stefan - employeesPetter Hill - President of the Mobsters, motorcycle gangIn Chapter 1, Davor's boyfriend, threatened by a Polish gang in the sex trade, drugs Davor's drink, leaving him at the mercy of the tradersWarning: mostly off page and non-detailed non-con sex written from the point of view of the drugged and not very aware victim.
Kudos: 1





	1. Chapter 1

I had doubts about going to the nightclub. It wasn’t my thing at all, but I went to please Markus. In less than an hour, I realised I’d made a mistake and that I couldn’t trust him. 

He suggested we take Ecstasy, something he was used to in this situation. I refused. I’d never done drugs and didn’t plan to start. But not too long after I swallowed the one drink he fetched from the bar for me, I knew he’d spiked it. My vision blurred, the colours around me became brighter, the music vibrated through my body, and my sense of balance deserted me.

I drifted in and out of consciousness, only partially aware of what was going on. A car ride, and the voices of strangers. Markus didn’t seem to be there. I protested weakly, resulting in my being struck in the back. Coldness and pain; the squeaking of bed springs; more pain. I was getting fucked and I had no idea who by. 

More shouting, then a gun shot. The guy on top of me was wrenched away, then someone was pulling me up, trying to get my clothes on me. I struggled at first, until he said his name, more than once. 

“Davor, it’s Christian. It’s Christian. Come on.”

Then I was in a car, lying on the backseat.

“You’re okay. I’m taking you home.” The car began to move. 

“Nnn—” My tongue felt too big for my mouth. “Nnn—o.”

“No? Then where?”

I tried to tell him to take me to my apartment—the one the Family knew nothing about—but I couldn’t get the words out. I couldn’t recall the address anyway. All I could remember at that moment was Markus drugging me, and letting some unknown guys take me away and do that to me. I hung my head off the seat and vomited into the footwell. My stomach hurt, my arse hurt, my back was in agony, and my shirt felt wet. 

“I’ll take you to my place,” Christian said.

Relieved, I rolled my head back onto the seat and closed my eyes. The next thing I knew, I was in a soft, comfortable bed with a dim light shining in from the next room. I didn’t know how long I’d been there.

“Hey.” Christian came into the room, wearing a tee shirt and underwear. “You need to drink some more water.” He switched on a small light beside the bed and picked up a glass of water from the bedside table.

I licked my dry lips. My head had stopped spinning, but it pounded as if I had the worst hangover in the world. I slowly pulled myself up and winced at the pain in my arse and my back. A quick glance under the sheet showed me I was naked except for my underwear, and the white sheet was stained with blood. I sucked in a breath, my heart stuttering.

“It’s not, um, what you think,” Christian said awkwardly. “Your back’s pretty torn up.” He leaned over me to look behind my shoulders. “I bandaged you up as best I could, but you tossed around in your sleep. Looks like the dressing came off.”

“Oh.” I heaved a sigh of relief and took the glass of water. I drained it and put it down. “This goes no further. Understand?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t say anything. It’s not my business.”

“How did you find me?” I ventured.

“The Family were getting worried, but they didn’t know where to look. I went to see Markus.”

“How did you—?” I frowned. “Of course. You drove him home that day.” 

Christian nodded. “What happened? Did he do this to you?”

“He put something in my drink. I don’t remember much after that, but he wasn’t there. I’m guessing he was threatened. Or paid.”

“I’m sorry.”

I shook my head. Then I remembered something. “I fucking puked all over the car.”

“It doesn’t matter. I’ll get it valeted this morning.”

“What time is it?” 

“Six.”

“Did you talk to the Family?”

Christian nodded. “I said you went home with a woman you met in a bar.”

I laughed hollowly. “And they believed that?”

“Dubravka seemed sceptical, but Pawel said you’d done that a few times recently.”

“Yeah, that’s what I told him.” I rubbed a hand over my face. “Thanks.”

“No problem. You want anything to eat?”

“No. Can I use your bathroom?”

“Sure. It’s the room next to this one.” He indicated with his thumb. 

I got out of the bed slowly and carefully and tried not to limp as I made my way to the door. “Where are my clothes?” I asked. 

“In the dryer. I washed them.”

I waited while he fetched them. Then I went into the bathroom and closed the door. 

Using the toilet was impossibly painful and I almost bit through my lip in my efforts not to cry out. Then I showered until I used up all the hot water. My back burned and the water running into the shower tray turned pink for a few minutes. When I was done, I put on my trousers and went to find Christian. 

He bandaged me up again, using a couple of thick dressings to stop me bleeding through my shirt. Then he made me some breakfast and left me in his apartment while he went to get the car valeted. An hour after that, he drove me home. 

“Good night?” Pawel grinned and winked as I walked in.

I smiled and waggled my eyebrows. Within minutes, things were as normal as they were going to get for me. I worked in my office for a while. Then I took the car and went to see Markus. 

He grovelled immediately. Of course he did. A Polish gang had threatened to kill him if he didn’t give me to them. They didn’t know who I was, but they liked the look of me and thought I’d earn them some good money. As tempted as I was to put a bullet in Markus’s brain, I couldn’t do it. He hadn’t known how to handle the situation, and after three months, I’d gotten fond of him. But I left him in no doubt that if he so much as thought about calling me, he wouldn’t see another day. Then I walked away.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Mimicas try to make a deal with motorcycle gang, the Mobsters, but things take a surprising turn when second in command Petter Hill kills his own president

As tempted as I was to go after the Polish gang, I couldn't do that on my own and I couldn't talk to the Family about it and enlist their help either. As furious as I was over it, I had to let it lie. My only satisfaction was that Christian said he shot the guy who seemed to be in charge of the operation when he got me out. I dimly remembered hearing a gunshot and guessed that must have been it.

Three months later, I had the unenviable task of getting tested. Of course I didn't tell anyone about that either, other than Christian, and only because he asked a few days after I'd been to the sexual health clinic if I was going to do it. I bit his head off and said I was one step ahead of him, and that I was all clear.

I vowed to be more selective about who I hooked up with in the future, but sometimes I couldn't help thinking with my dick, and I sensed it was going to get me into trouble again eventually.

The Mimica Family had had a few run-ins with the motorcycle gang, the Mobsters. We wanted to take over the Scandinavian drug import market, of which they had a decent share. Another gang, the Delincuentas, were a problem to the Mobsters also, and we tried to make a deal with the Mobsters to help them out and in turn, get our hands on half of their share of the market—to start with. We murdered the Mobsters' president's wife and let the Delincuentas take the blame.

Later we set up a meeting with the Mobsters' president, Ulrik, and his second, Petter Hill. Petter was an infuriatingly hot, muscled blond of about thirty-five. He had a wife and kids and was clearly straight, but it didn't stop me fantasising about getting into his pants. I tried to put it out of my mind, but my imagination and my dick repeatedly conjured up scenarios where I got to fuck him, and I jerked off numerous times. I knew I'd never get him into bed willingly, and my fantasies took on a new turn, where I kidnapped him, tied him to my bed, and fucked him. The idea festered in my head, despite what had happened to me. I could see myself doing it—catching him alone, putting a gun to his head, and cuffing him. I'd take him to my apartment, strip him out of his leathers, and do whatever I wanted with him.

"Idiot," I muttered under my breath. I'd probably end up with a bullet in my brain. But despite my common sense telling me it was never going to happen, I couldn't stop thinking about it. It began to drive me crazy, and by the time our meeting took place, I was so focussed on what I wanted from him, I was off my game. But things still went my way.

I took Zvonomir, my uncle, and Majmun, our hired hit, with me. We met Ulrik and Petter in a deserted house in the woods, but it was clear from the beginning Ulrik wasn't interested. He stood back and let Petter do the talking, then told us to go fuck ourselves—he wouldn't make any deal. The pair of them walked off to argue it out and minutes later, there was a gunshot. My stomach flipped over. I would never get close to getting what I wanted, if Petter was lying in a pool of his own blood. But a moment later, he walked back into the room. He'd killed his own president—to further his own career maybe? I didn't know. But he seemed unsure about what to do to get out of the situation he'd just put himself in.

"Go," I said. "We'll deal with it."

Zvonomir and Majmun looked at me like I was crazy as Petter left us to get rid of the body. In seconds, he was gone. "What are you thinking?" Majmum scowled at me.

"Now we own him." I smirked. "He'll agree to the deal. We'll pin Ulrik on the Delincuentas."

Zvonomir shook his head. "I hope you know what you're doing."

That night, Stefan, one of our employees who could be manipulated into doing anything to keep me sweet, since he was screwing my sister Blanka, and Christian, took a van with stolen plates with Ulrik's body in it, and dumped it outside the Mobsters' meeting place. They wore balaclavas, posing as a couple of the Delincuentas. It was done and with any luck, we'd be hearing from Petter Hill before too much longer.

He didn't call, but a couple of weeks later, an opportunity presented itself for me to call on him. One of the newest recruits to the Mobsters attacked and raped one of our restaurant's serving girls. Laura was nothing to do with the Family. She didn't know our secrets. But she was a good worker, she was discreet, and she'd been with us for two years. Pawel, our best employee, had developed feelings for her and as shy and stupid as he was with girls, he'd been working himself up to ask her on a date. And then this happened. Apparently, the young guy wasn't taking his new role with one of the most dangerous gangs in Stockholm seriously.

"We need to deal with this," Pawel said fiercely when we found out.

"I plan to," I responded.

"You plan to? This is a Family matter now," he gritted out. "We should rip that guy's balls off and make him eat them."

"Settle down, Pawel. I will deal with it," I repeated. "I'm taking this to the top."

"Petter Hill?" His eyes widened.

"Yes. He can deal with his own scum."

When Laura arrived at work, I summoned her to my office. Timidly, she stepped in, stood in front of my desk, and stared at the floor.

"Am I in trouble?" she whispered.

"Hell, no. I wanted to check how you're doing."

"I'm okay."

She didn't look okay. She was trembling.

"Could you describe him?"

Colour flooded her face, and she seemed to shrink before my eyes. "Blond hair, blue eyes, clean-shaven. He has a rude word tattooed on his knuckles." She lowered her voice and said "fuck" so quietly I barely heard it.

"He has 'fuck' tattooed on his knuckles?"

"Yes."

"Okay. That's all. Are you up to working?"

"Yes."

"If you don't feel like dealing with the customers, you can work in the kitchen for a few days," I offered.

"Thank you, Davor. That's very kind, but I'll be okay."

I nodded. "Off you go, then."

I thought about what I might do for the next couple of days. I could very easily fuck up by thinking with my dick. I should be using this opportunity to pressure Petter on the deal that hadn't happened yet, but all I could think about was making him feel like he owed me something else.

Two days later, Pawel suggested finding Laura's attacker himself, since I didn't appear to be doing anything about it. I grabbed him by the throat and slammed him against the wall.

"I said I'll handle it," I snapped.

"Well, you're taking your time," he gasped.

"I'm hardly going to walk into their camp when they're having one of their meetings. I'll get my fucking head blown off." I let go of him. "I know what I'm doing. You'll hear about it soon enough."

"I thought you made a deal with them. Did them a favour. Doesn't Petter Hill owe you?"

"More so now. Leave it with me. I'll sort it," I repeated.

"I hope so." Shaking his head and rubbing his neck, he walked away from me.

The next day was Sunday, and with the restaurant quiet, I decided tonight would be the night. I took off alone, feeling uncharacteristically anxious as I drove a circuitous route to the Hill residence and parked far enough away not to be spotted, but close enough to see what was going on. I used binoculars to look into the lit window, and watched Monica Hill playing with their two kids. After a while, Petter, who I assumed was now the president, came into view and spoke to her. Then he gave her a nod and left the room. Moments later, the house door opened, and he came out. He climbed onto the motorcycle in front of the house and fired up the engine. Shit. I should have thought of that. He'd easily get away from me on a bike.

The motorcycle pulled away and joined the road, then headed off north at a steady speed. Perhaps he wasn't in a rush to get where he was going. I started the car and followed. I didn't have a concrete plan of what would happen. I'd initially had ideas of catching him on foot and getting him into my car, but clearly that wasn't an option. I followed him a couple of miles to a bar, where he parked the motorcycle and went inside.

This time, I parked closer and got out of the car. I walked past the bar and glanced in the window, where he could be seen talking to two guys. I circled the building and walked by again. As the door opened, I tucked my face down into my collar and lurked in the shadows, just feet away from the bike. A sideways glance showed me he was alone. Now was my chance.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Davor lets his fantasies take over and holds Petter prisoner in his apartment overnight

I had a second to decide how to play things and decided not to waste time talking just yet. He could walk away.

He froze as he felt my gun tap him in the back. His hands hung at his sides, and he held them out a little to show me he wasn't going to try to get to his weapon. I slid my hand under his jacket and relieved him of his gun.

"Walk across the road to the Audi. Slowly," I said in a low voice.

He turned his head slightly. "Davor Mimica. To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"We have some things to talk about." I jabbed him harder with the muzzle of the gun. He walked. I couldn't help a small smile as we got to the car. I unlocked it and reached for the cuffs that lay on the passenger seat.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" he growled, as I clipped one cuff on and pulled his hand behind his back. "Have you forgotten how to use a phone? I've had things going on. I haven't forgotten about the deal."

"Shut up. There's more to this than the deal." I finished the job and shoved him into the seat, closed the door, and went around the other side. I put his gun in the glovebox. When I pulled the car back onto the road, he spoke again.

"What the fuck do you want, then?"

"You'll find out."

"Where are you taking me?"

"You'll see."

"Oh, a guessing game, is it?" He huffed out a breath. "You realise, I suppose, there'll be consequences?"

"You seem to forget how much you owe me. Even more now."

"What are you talking about?"

Ignoring him, I drove for a few minutes, then parked the car near to my apartment block.

"Tell me what's going on, you fucker," Petter said angrily, as I ushered him out of the car and into the building.

"One of your minions needs to be taught a lesson," I said as we travelled up in the lift.

His eyes narrowed. "What?"

"Blond, blue eyes, tattoo of 'fuck' on his knuckles?"

"Erik."

"Whatever." I jabbed him with my gun again as the lift doors opened. "Turn left. End of the corridor."

He walked ahead of me. "So, what's Erik done? Looked at you wrong?" he sneered as I unlocked my door.

Suddenly furious, both with his smart mouth and my apparent determination to carry out my stupid fantasy that I couldn't forget about, I smacked him in the side of the head with the gun. Off balance and unable to save himself with his hands cuffed behind his back, he stumbled and crashed to the floor. I closed and locked the door behind me.

"Your Erik forced himself on one of my girls!" I spat, using that to explain my anger.

"So you say. She was probably a little slut, just begging for it. He did her a favour, if it even happened."

I kicked him in the stomach, making him splutter and retch. This wasn't the plan. Getting mad and beating him up wouldn't get me what I wanted. It would probably fuck up the whole arrangement we wanted with the Mobsters, too. I took a few deep breaths, then hauled him up and sat him on a chair. I found a second pair of handcuffs and fastened his cuffed hands to the back of the chair. When he caught his breath, he glared up at me.

"What the fuck do you want with me? If Erik did what you say, why aren't you going after him?"

"It's your job to keep your men in line. Not mine. I want you to dish out the punishment. Once that's done, we can talk about the deal."

"And how do you think you're going to make me 'dish out the punishment?' Keep me here as your prisoner until I beg for my freedom? Not happening." He shook his head. "Have you even got a plan?"

"I'm making it up as I go along." I grinned. "Your man's a rapist. I want him to get what he deserves. You've got plenty of time to think about how you're going to do that. I need to get some sleep."

"You can't be fucking serious. You're going to leave me trussed up here all night?" Face contorted with rage, he attempted to stand up. The chair was a heavy one and sturdily made. It moved, but if he thought he could perhaps smash it into a wall and break free, he was out of luck.

"Sit down. It seems I can do what I want right now. You're not in much of a position to stop me. Remember who covered up Ulrik for you." I walked out of the room and closed the door.

"You fucking shithead!" he roared after me. "Fucking sick queer bastard! You're probably getting off on this, aren't you?"

Grinning, I opened the door again. "You have no idea." Laughing quietly, I closed it again and went to my bedroom. It was only when I closed that door and switched on the light, that I realised my dick was hard. I was getting off on this. Petter Hill was chained up in my apartment, at my mercy. And damn, I wanted to fuck him more than ever. Like I told him, I was making it up as I went along. I didn't know what I would do next, and was well aware that all I'd succeeded in doing so far was making him mad. I decided to leave him to cool down while I thought about it some more.

I didn't sleep much. He yelled and stomped at intervals through the night, but eventually there was silence. I slept a few hours and when daylight filled my room, I got up, had a piss, a quick shower, and cleaned my teeth, and went to check on my prisoner.

When I opened the door, I was immediately filled with guilt. The crotch and inner thighs of his jeans were wet, and a puddle under the chair indicated he pissed himself.

"You fucking piece of shit! Let me out of here!" he snarled the moment he became aware of me.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean for this to—"

"What the fuck do you expect? Ten fucking hours, I've been sat here!"

"All right. Give me a minute." I found the keys and unlocked him from the chair. Immediately, he lurched to his feet. "You'd better take a shower." I ushered him to the bathroom, unlocked the cuffs from his wrists, and closed the door after him. I leaned on the wall outside, toying with my gun. I was a fool. What had I hoped to gain by cuffing him to my chair and leaving him to humiliate himself? I had a tongue in my head, but last night a conversation seemed to have been beyond me.

The guilt and irritation I felt quickly evaporated as I heard water running and imagined him naked in the shower. I still wanted to carry out my fantasy. I didn't think he would put piss-soaked jeans back on, which meant he would walk out of the bathroom with only a towel on. Unfortunately, he'd likely be in a steaming temper.

My dick filled. Maybe he was right. I was a sick bastard. In my fantasy I'd contemplated doing what his guy Erik had done to our Laura. After it had been done to me. I would never actually do that. My only option was to make him like it.

"You're going to fuck everything up," I muttered. The leverage I had right now would be shot to hell if I tried anything and it wasn't welcome. How would I explain the deal going down the toilet to the Family?

Eventually the water stopped running and the door opened. He wore a towel and nothing else. His shoulders and pecs bulged, and a six-pack was visible, covered by a small amount of extra flesh. He had a few tattoos, but not as many as I would have expected. He wore a heavy silver bracelet around his left wrist, and a few chunky silver rings on his fingers and one thumb.

"What the fuck are you looking at? You really are queer, aren't you?" He glared at me.

"Shut your mouth. You want me to cuff you again?"

"What do you intend to do with me? You can't keep me here indefinitely. My wife will wonder where I am. She'll send the boys to look for me."

"Let her. They'll never find you here. Besides, you'll be home by lunchtime. So long as I get a guarantee you'll deal with that bastard, Erik."

"You're going pretty over the top if that's all you want." He rolled his eyes.

"Like I said, you're not in a position to argue."

"Well, at least let me have a drink of water, since I'm apparently stuck here for a while."

"Be my guest." I gestured towards the kitchen. He walked past me, and my gaze slid over the Mobsters logo tattoo on the back of his neck and between his shoulder blades, and a Mobsters president tattoo, obviously fresh, on the back of his shoulder. My gaze wandered farther to his firm arse under the towel. What now, I wondered? Could I get what I really wanted?


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Davor tries to seduce Petter and is pleasantly surprised by the result

I followed Petter into the kitchen, tucking my gun into the back of my trousers. How should I play this? I didn't know have the land lay. If he was straight, which I was fairly sure he was, I wouldn't get anywhere. I would have to test the water. He already suspected I was gay, and the worst he could do was punch me. Those rings would cut up my face, I mused.

He found a glass at the side of the sink and turned on the tap—the hot one. I grinned and stepped up close behind him, reached around him, and turned it off. "It's the other one. The kitchen fitters messed up and put them on the wrong way around." I turned on the cold tap and let my chest touch his back. I could feel the heat of him through my shirt, and my dick firmed up more.

He stiffened. "Back off. What are you doing?"

"I thought you wanted a drink." I backed up a couple of inches.

He huffed and filled the glass, gulped the contents, and put it down again. Then he turned off the tap.

My heart thundered in my chest and the knot of nervous excitement in my stomach grew. I lifted my hand again and touched the tattoo between his shoulder blades. "Nice ink."

His skin pebbled with goosebumps and he shivered. He didn't spin around and curse me out or push me away. Interesting. I ran the tip of one finger down his spine to the top of the towel.

"Take your fucking hand off me," he said a touch breathlessly. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Having a little fun." I removed my hand and unbuttoned my shirt. When I dropped it on the floor, he finally turned around.

"Fuck off, Davor. Seriously?"

I glanced down, and grinned when I saw the bulge behind the towel. A straight man wouldn't start to get hard from my proximity, or the light touch.

"Now who's the queer bastard?" I teased.

"Fuck you."

"You sure like saying 'fuck' a lot." I put a hand on his chest and pushed him back against the sink. He knocked my hand away.

"Look, I'll deal with Erik, okay? That's what you want, isn't it?"

"Yeah, that's what I want. Turn back around."

"Go to hell." He shoved me, his hand in the middle of my chest.

I took a step back. His expression was unreadable, but there was no mistaking his arousal. He had no way of hiding it and if he looked down, he couldn't miss my erection straining against my Armani trousers. He didn't look down—he just stared at me in silence, his chest heaving.

I stared back as he licked his lips, swallowed, glanced around, and finally met my eyes again. His pupils were larger, but he pulled his brows together in a scowl. I smiled. "Turn around, Petter."

I didn't expect him to do it. I expected another couple of 'fucks' to issue from him. Maybe he'd shove me again and walk away, not that he could go far without his clothes. Maybe he'd fight me. But he lowered his gaze, shook his head, seeming resigned, and turned his back to me.

My pulse raced, and my mouth went dry. I took the gun out of the back of my trousers and placed it on the kitchen counter. Then I opened one of the drawers a couple of inches and coated my fingers in the lube I kept there. I kept it all over the apartment—you never knew when you might need lube in the kitchen, or the bathroom, or—

I snagged the top of the towel with my other hand and pulled it away. Damn, his arse looked good—firm, muscled, smooth. I slid a slick finger along his arse crack and found his hole. He tensed and clenched his fists on the edge of the sink.

"Fuck off. Stop it."

I moved closer until my chest touched his back again. He was holding his breath, his knuckles turning white.

I had no intention of doing what had been done to me, but I wasn't quite ready to take no for an answer. "Just breathe," I murmured. "Relax."

Much to my surprise, he did so, and I slid my finger into him. He shivered and cursed quietly. I stroked my finger in and out, then added a second. He was impossibly tight, and my dick jumped. I couldn't remember ever being quite so desperate to fuck. I found his prostate and applied a little pressure to it. He groaned.

"That's it," I murmured. "Feels good, doesn't it?"

"Get off me," he responded shakily.

"Are you sure? You're not putting up much of a fight." I slid my free hand between him and the sink and wrapped my hand around his erection. "Your dick doesn't want me to stop, now, does it? You seem to be liking this more than I expected." I curled my fingers and massaged his prostate, then withdrew and let go of him. I unfastened my trousers and shoved them and my underwear to my knees. When I took the lube out of the drawer and slicked myself up, Petter turned his head and looked over his shoulder.

"Oh, hell no," he said. "Fuck, Davor, let me go." He tried to turn around, but I pressed myself against him, my erection sliding along his arse crack.

"But you're all loosened up ready for me. It'd be a shame to waste that. Come on, relax. I don't want to hurt you." I slid my arm around him again and stroked his dick.

"You have a funny way of showing it." His voice shook more than ever.

"Tell me one more time. Do you want me to stop?" I whispered into his ear.

He sighed and shivered.

"Petter?" I prompted. "I can stop. Tell me."

"Just fucking do it," he muttered.

I nudged his legs apart with my knee and guided myself. I still expected him to push me away and stop things, but he relaxed as I pushed past his tight ring. I held still. "Okay?"

"Yeah," he panted.

"I can stop," I said again.

"No."

"Just remember you asked for this." I slid in a little more. "Tell me if it hurts."

"I thought you liked causing pain."

"Not like this." I leaned against him, trapping him between me and the sink. "Stay relaxed and breathe slow." I pushed in all the way and groaned at the feel of him. "Damn, you feel good."

"Stop fucking talking," he grunted.

I grinned and breathed out, a hot puff of air in his ear. "Have you done this before?"

"No, I'm not—" He sighed again, sounding exasperated. "I always top."

"And here I was thinking you were straight." I pulled my hips back and pushed forward again. "Damn, you're so fucking hot, you know that?"

Petter huffed out a laugh. "Been fantasising about me, have you?"

"That'd be telling." Another thrust. "I'm sorry about before. Leaving you all night. I mean it."

"I don't care. You're the one who's going to have to clean the floor."

I laughed and drove myself deeper into him. He pushed his hips back onto me. I grasped his dick again and stroked him in time with my thrusts. I put my other hand on the back of his neck and massaged the muscles there. He arched his back and I slid deeper.

"Anyone would think you want me to enjoy it," he said breathlessly.

"Are you?"

He groaned. "I've had worse things happen to me."

"Compliments. I'm stunned." I couldn't quite believe I was teasing him. And part of me wondered if this wasn't all one of my vivid dreams and that I wasn't fucking him at all. But I knew it was real. Petter Hill was letting me fuck him, and at that moment, I felt like if we weren't who we were, this could have been something good; amazing, even. My imagination running away with me again.

I rolled my hips, withdrew, and slammed into him harder. He grunted and his dick throbbed in my hand. I wasn't going to last long. It had been a while for me, and my fantasy had grown in my head to the point where getting it for real was going to make me blow in minutes. I didn't fight it. I jerked him harder, taking him with me as I started to come. When he spilled in my hand and clenched tighter around me, I shot my load inside him. I withdrew carefully, noticing him flinch a little.

"You okay?"

"You care?" He turned around slowly.

"I told you I wouldn't hurt you like that. If I wanted to cause you pain, I'd do it some other way."

"Okay. So what now?"

"You deal with your man," I reminded him.

"I intend to. For what it's worth, I'm sorry about your girl. There's no excuse for that."

I nodded. "I appreciate it."


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Davor is relieved to find out that Mobster gang member who hurt Laura has been dealt with, and even more pleased to find out Petter seems to want a repeat performance of their recent meeting

Petter hung around for a couple of hours. I mopped the floor, and put his jeans and underwear in the wash, then the dryer. We drank coffee and ate toast. We didn't talk much. I told myself I couldn't change my opinion of him. He was still the president of our rival that we were trying to do a deal with. Just because I'd fucked him and he liked it, we weren't suddenly friends. But it didn't stop me wishing things were different. That I was free to do this with him whenever I wanted. That he wasn't a family man who apparently fucked men on rare occasions. I wanted to ask him about that, but I doubted he'd answer me. It wasn't the time to talk about anything personal, if it ever would be.

I drove him back to the bar to collect his motorcycle, and he exited the car without a word. Then I went home and worked in my office for a while. I didn't want to be around the others. All I could think about was Petter Hill's body, and the fact that I'd had sex with him. I wanted it again, so fucking badly. It had only been—I glanced at my watch—three hours since I left him outside the bar, and damn, I wanted to see him again. I had to get that thought out of my head. It was done. There would be no going back for more. I'd got what I wanted, and I had to forget it.

Two days later, the newspaper had an article on the second page entitled "Local Gang Member Found Castrated and Shot." The grainy black and white photograph showed a fair-haired man in a Mobsters jacket. The few paragraphs of writing told me he was Erik Odder, aged twenty-four, a junior member of the Mobsters motorcycle gang. The police had no leads and could only assume he had fallen foul of a rival gang. The case was closed.

I went to the top of the stairs and looked down. A moment later, Laura walked down the corridor and I called to her. "Laura, come up here, please."

Immediately, she changed direction and hurried up the stairs towards me. I held the door of my office wide, and she stepped through. I followed, closed the door, and sat behind my desk.

"How are you?" I asked.

"I'm okay, thank you, Davor." As usual, she stared at the floor.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you. Have some pride in yourself," I said, not sternly.

She raised her head and stared at a point around my chin, her face flushing. I pushed the newspaper across the desk, folded to show the article about Erik Odder. "Is this him?"

She gasped and bent to read the article. When she straightened up, she met my eyes for the first time in two years. "That's him. Did you do that?"

"No. One of his own did when they found out what he'd done. You never have to worry about him again, okay?"

"Okay." Suddenly, she squared her shoulders and took a deep breath, her gaze still locked with mine. "I want to join the Family," she said. "I'm not a victim. Or at least, I don't want to be. I want to learn to be like the others. Like Pawel, and Jovan, and Stefan. Can I do that?"

I smiled. "I think that can be arranged. You're a good girl, Laura. I think you'd be an asset to us once you toughen up a bit."

"Thank you." She nodded and left the room.

I turned the newspaper around again and reread the article. Had Petter done this himself? I wanted to talk to him, but that would be impossible. I had to forget the stupid idea I kept having about getting my hands on him again. I had to put him out of my mind and find someone to be with. The only contact I should have with him, was about business.

I went out to a bar a week later; not the one where I met Markus. I was extremely wary about being out in a place like that at all. I had my gun under my jacket, and I didn't let my drink out of my sight for a second. I looked at every guy who came near me as if they were a potential rapist, or sex-trader. I probably looked dangerous and no one approached me, apart from one drunk guy who wouldn't have been my type even if he was sober. I left after an hour.

I'd parked my car down the street, and I marched to it in a temper of frustration and annoyance, mainly at myself. I wasn't a weak man, but my experience had made me weak, at least in relation to picking up men. I would have to find some other way to hook up, although doing it via the Internet had never appealed.

I slid into the driver's seat and slammed the door closed. A second later, I had the muzzle of a gun in my ear. I froze.

"Drive." That was all he said.

I started the engine, flicked on the lights, and pulled the car away from the kerb. "Where are we going?" I glanced in the rear-view mirror. Petter's face was half hidden in the shadows, but I could still make out the smirk. My pulse quickened and suddenly I felt hot all over. I lowered my head so he wouldn't see me grin.

"Your place."

"You know, you could have called."

"And said what?" He paused. "Maybe I thought you deserved some payback."

"I thought we were about even. Your man hurt my girl. You—I presume it was you—taught him a lesson. What happened in between—well, it seemed like we both enjoyed that."

Petter withdrew the gun. "I wanted to make sure you knew I dealt with it."

"It was in the paper," I reminded him. "Was it you?"

"Of course not. I wouldn't dirty my hands with something like that. One of my men did it."

"Okay. We covered that. You still want to go to my place?" We were almost there, I realised, as I turned into the street.

"There's something else I wanted to ask you about."

"What? The deal? Because we need to sort that out."

"Let's get inside. I've been freezing my arse off for an hour, waiting for you to come out of that fucking bar."

I chuckled. "You could have come inside."

"A gay bar? Not fucking likely."

"How do you meet men, then?"

"Online, and not very often."

"Okay." I parked the car and got out. Petter got out too. There was no sign of his gun now, and I guessed it was in the back of his leather trousers under his jacket. My heart pounded as we rode up in the lift. I wondered if this was going to go the way I hoped it would. Had he liked it so much he wanted more, and couldn't stop himself? I fucking hoped so.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things seem to be going the way Davor hopes, when Petter admits he's up for a repeat performance of their time together.

"You want a drink?" I offered as I closed the apartment door behind us.

"That's very civilised of you, Davor."

I smiled and picked up my crystal decanter. "Scotch?"

"I prefer bourbon, but it'll do."

I put the decanter down and opened the cupboard it stood on. Inside was a bottle of Jack. I poured two generous measures, added ice from the mini fridge, and passed him one.

"Thanks." He swallowed it in two large gulps and put the glass down. I sipped mine.

"So, what did you want to ask me?" I sat on the couch and stretched out my legs. He hovered for a moment, seeming awkward and out of place in my smartly furnished room. Then he shrugged and sat opposite me on the other couch. "Are you going to enlighten me, or is this a guessing game?" I teased, echoing his words from before.

He raised an eyebrow, then drew both brows together. "Why'd you do what you did before?"

"What do you mean? I wanted to fuck. So did you, apparently."

"It started out like you meant to punish me for something. Your girl, maybe? Or was it some sort of fantasy of yours? Whatever. So, you didn't intend to force the issue?"

"I thought about it, but I never would have done that." I shook my head. "I'm not a rapist, Petter."

"You'd have stopped if I hadn't said do it?"

"Yes, I would. I really didn't expect you to let me. Why did you?"

He shrugged. "I didn't intend to. You turned me on, and it had been a long time. I thought I'd take what I could get."

I grinned. It looked like things were going to go that way again. I threw the rest of the Jack down my neck and grimaced at the burn. "Why are you here, really? You didn't go to all this trouble just to ask me that."

"Maybe I was interested in there being a repeat performance. Obviously without the leaving me chained to a chair all night part."

"Believe me, that wasn't much fun for me either."

"Well, why the fuck did you leave me there for hours? I yelled out plenty."

"Yeah, I kind of switched off to that after a while. I apologise."

He shrugged again. "You mind if I have another drink?"

"Help yourself." I gestured at the drinks cabinet. "Dutch courage?"

"I don't fucking need courage." He got to his feet, but rather than go to refill his glass, he put it down on the coffee table and crossed the room towards me. In the next few seconds, he dropped to his knees between my feet, unzipped my fly, and pulled out my half hard dick.

"What are you—?" My words choked off on a groan as he sucked me into his mouth. "Oh, fuck."

He clearly hadn't had a lot of practise, but what he lacked in expertise, he made up for with enthusiasm. He had me on the edge within minutes.

"Petter—" I struggled to breathe and pushed at his head. "Stop, or I'll come."

He pulled off me and grinned as he got to his feet. "Do you want to fuck again?"

"Damn, you're full of surprises, aren't you?" I stood too. "Let's take this to my room."

"All right." He walked ahead of me, digging a hand into his pocket. He pulled out a condom as I switched on the bedroom light, and held it out to me. "Let's do it properly this time, though, okay?"

"Fuck that." I snatched it from him and tossed it into a corner. I was never usually this careless. I'd never fucked Markus bare, even after three months, but I'd been caught up in the moment the first time with Petter, and now I didn't want to dull the feel of him.

"Look, Davor, I'm going to have to get fucking tested—"

"No, you're not. You're fine." I opened the drawer and took out the letter. "Here." I passed it to him and gave him a few seconds to see my negative result. "Something happened to me a few months back. I had this done a couple of weeks ago. I haven't been with anyone since, other than you. I should have been more careful last time, I suppose." I took the letter back. "Do you have anything to tell me?"

"No." He shook his head. "I've never fucked without protection, apart from with my wife. She hadn't been with anyone else and it was years ago."

"Years?" I raised an eyebrow. He didn't seem inclined to elaborate. "Okay. Good." I nodded. "Do any drugs?"

He snorted. "No. Do you?"

I shook my head. "Never."

"What happened to you?"

"What do you mean?"

"You said something happened a few months ago."

Way to dampen the mood. I kicked off my shoes and put the letter back in the drawer. "I got drugged and raped," I said through my teeth.

"Shit! How the hell did that happen?" He looked shocked.

"I trusted someone I shouldn't have trusted. He spiked my drink. Some prostitution ring guys threatened him into doing it. The next thing I knew, I was high on Ecstasy, barely conscious, with some unknown freak fucking me. There may have been more than one. I don't know. Luckily, I don't remember much about it."

Petter frowned and shook his head. "Is that why you weren't going to pressure me?"

"It's one reason. I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy."

He smiled suddenly and his eyes twinkled. "I thought I was your worst enemy."

"Well, it doesn't seem that way right now, does it?" I relaxed and grinned. "Anyway, we're supposed to be on the same side. Now that shit's out of the way, where were we?"

"You were going to fuck me."

"You know, I didn't expect you to like it so much you'd come back for more." I unbuttoned my shirt. "Married straight guy—well, I thought you were straight then. And a top. People do surprise you sometimes."

He shrugged once again. "I'm gay. I just never wanted to try bottoming."

"You do know I'm never going to do that, right?" I said more seriously, then hoped he wouldn't notice I'd inferred we were going to keep doing this.

"I know that." He took off his jacket, then removed his gun from the back of his pants and placed it on my bedside table.

"Does your wife know?" I asked.

"Yes, she knows. She's my best friend, but that's all. I fucked her a few times to get the kids. We both wanted a family. Since she got pregnant with my youngest, I haven't been near her. She has lovers. We're both discreet about it."

"Okay." I unfastened my trousers. My erection had softened, but I knew it would soon grow again. "Take your pants off."

He grinned and bent to pull off his boots. His socks followed, then he straightened up and took off his tee shirt, deliberately leaving his leather trousers until last. It didn't look like he was hard either. I moved closer. "Want me to take them off?"

"Nah. I'm getting to it. Just wanted to whet your appetite a little." He popped the top button open. "You like my body, huh? Like these muscles?" He flexed a bicep.

"You're fucking vain, you know that?" I ran a finger down the middle of his chest, then over his stomach and into the waistband of his trousers. "And fucking hot."

He chuckled and put his hands on my sides. "I was so determined not to get hard last time. I was thinking about other things to try to stop it—shooting Ulrik; something happening to my kids; all kinds of shit. And your fucking fingers killed all of that. I haven't been that horny in a long time."

"You liked that, huh?" I slid my finger farther down the front of his pants and brushed it against his dick. It was hard now and pointing towards his left hip. "You liked my fingers inside you? Liked me fucking you?"

"Why do you think I'm here?" He licked his lips. "You realise if my guys find out about this, I'll lose all respect, right?"

"Same here if my family found out, although I think I'd lose more than their respect. We'd better make sure they don't find out." I withdrew my finger, slid my arms around him, and kissed him for the first time.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Davor asks Petter to stay the night, and realises he could easily fall for him

I wasn't sure if he'd respond or not. In my experience, some men didn't like kissing, and it wasn't as if we were even close. But he kissed me back heatedly without hesitation. I groaned as our tongues stroked over each other, lips crushed against teeth in our eagerness. The bristles of his neatly trimmed moustache and goatee scraped my skin. I slowed things a little, caressing his lips with mine instead, until he moaned and melted against me. I ran my hands over his body, stroking his firm pecs and his back. I finished unfastening his leather trousers, pushed them down enough to uncover his arse, and squeezed it in both hands. His dick rubbed against my stomach, still restrained by his underwear. I broke the kiss to breathe.

"I want you so fucking bad," I muttered. I took my hands off him and shoved my trousers and underwear to my knees. My erection slapped against my stomach and left a wet smear there.

Petter pushed his trousers and underwear down the rest of the way and stepped out of them. Then he crawled into the middle of my bed and lay on his back. He idly stroked himself as I finished undressing, kicking my Gucci trousers into a heap on the floor in my haste. Then I climbed onto the bed and lowered myself between his legs. Our dicks rubbed together and we both groaned. I covered his mouth with mine again and thrust in with my tongue. He gripped my neck and pushed back, his tongue fighting with mine for dominance. I groped for the lube, desperate to move things forward. When I reached under him and pushed a finger in, he let go of my neck and turned his head to break the kiss.

"Is this okay?" I looked down at him, but his eyes were closed.

"Yeah."

"Look at me." I stroked in and out gently, coating him in lube. He turned his head back and opened his eyes. They were grey-blue, I noted, like the sea. His pupils were blown, lips parted as he gasped for breath. The hair on his face was light brown, a shade darker than that on his head which was more of a dark blond. He was easily the hottest, most gorgeous man I'd ever been with. If only he wasn't who he was. But I could never be with him openly, even if he wasn't a Mobster. The Family would never accept me being gay. Years ago in Croatia, I'd heard my parents talking about a gay man who was the son of one of their friends. They hated him and thought he was disgusting and unnatural.

I added a second finger, carefully pressing in and stretching Petter open. He squirmed and groaned, and I held still. "Take it easy. You're too tense. You know I won't hurt you, right?"

"Yeah." He took a breath and blew it out slowly. His erection had softened, and I reminded myself he wasn't used to this.

"It's okay. Just relax." I never would have dreamed of talking to any of my past lovers like this. I never would have thought I'd talk to Petter like this either, but in the moment, it was right. It felt right. It felt amazing. Like this, we were different people. Who we were didn't matter. I brushed my lips against his. "Do you want me to stop?"

"No. I'm okay. Do it." He grasped himself and stroked slowly.

I pressed my fingers deeper. "You feel so good. So hot. I could come just from doing this." I brushed across his prostate, and he gasped. "Yeah, that's it. You like that, don't you?" I rubbed it again, and his dick stiffened.

"Do you always talk this much when you're having sex?" He smiled suddenly.

"No. Not usually." I pulled my fingers out. "You ready?"

"Yeah. Go slow."

I picked up the lube again and slicked some onto my erection. "Did I hurt you last time? I tried not to."

"Not much. I was sore after."

"I'll take it slower. You want it like this, or do you want to turn over?"

"Like this." He pulled his knees up. "Are you this considerate with all your lovers?"

"There haven't been many, but no. Generally, I don't give a shit so long as I have a good time. I kind of got fond of Markus, but—" I shrugged. "So long as you're enjoying it, that's what matters."

He stared at me for a second, then closed his eyes. "I wouldn't have come back for more if I didn't enjoy the first time."

I guided myself, and carefully pressed in. He relaxed and pushed against me, making it easier. I buried myself deep, then held still to let him get used to me. After a minute, I gradually started to move with slow, shallow thrusts. It still felt like the first time. He was so tight and unused. I kept my gaze fixed on his face, watching for a flinch or grimace, but there was none. He began to move with me, and stroked himself, slow and firm. It felt amazing; perfect. I didn't want it to end, but after a few minutes I knew I wouldn't last much longer. His arse flexed and clenched around me, and he grunted his pleasure as he came.

"Yeah, that's it," I gasped. "Almost there." Just as he finished, I spilled into him, then held myself deep inside until I softened. He felt so fucking good.

When I slipped out, I rolled off him and pulled him over to face me. I wasn't a cuddler. Markus had always wanted to cuddle afterwards, and I'd turned away from him, uncomfortable with that level of physical affection. But it was easy to want to hold Petter. Somehow there was a connection between us. Something I wanted to hang onto. I pulled him against me and ran my hand slowly over his back. He pressed his forehead against my shoulder and rested his arm around me.

"Are you expected back?" I asked him.

"I come and go as I please."

"Do you want to stay with me tonight?" I hadn't meant to ask that, and I held my breath as I waited for the answer. Perhaps fucking wasn't out of the question, but spending the night together, holding each other, was going too far. Wasn't it?

"Is that what you want?" He kept his face hidden against my shoulder.

"Yes, it's what I want." I brushed my lips against the shaved side of his head.

"Okay."

I moved my hand to the back of his neck and stroked the warm, slightly damp skin there. Then I ran my fingers through the long strands of hair in the centre of his head. He moaned softly, almost a purr. I kissed the side of his head again. "Hey. Look at me."

He pulled his head back and met my eyes. "What?"

I just brought our lips together and kissed him warmly, thoroughly, my heart hammering as he responded. There was no urgency or passion, just warmth. I knew then I was in trouble. Deep trouble. I was going to fall for him and there was nothing I could do to stop myself, because I couldn't give this up now. Today, it was just sex. But tomorrow, it would be something else.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Davor and Petter admit they want to keep seeing each other, and Davor learns a little about Petter's past

I got up a while later to use the bathroom and turn off the lights. Petter went to the bathroom, too. Despite our conversation, I almost expected him to put his clothes on and leave, but he slid under the covers beside me and stretched out on his back. I turned to face him and slid my arm under his neck. A slight smile pulled his lips up at the corners.

"Who'd have thought Davor Mimica would be a cuddler?"

"I'm not."

"I beg to differ." His grin stretched wider.

"I don't hear you complaining."

"It's easy to forget who we are right now." His smile slipped.

"Yes, I know."

"I didn't expect any of this. Where do we go from here?"

"I didn't plan it. Well, the first time maybe. I had the hots for you and I kept playing out these fantasy scenarios in my head until it just about drove me crazy."

I hadn't meant to admit to that. Petter laughed. "I knew you'd been fantasising about me. You know, you could have asked me to have sex with you, instead of kidnapping me."

"Would you have?"

"Probably not, no. I can't say I haven't thought about it once or twice in the past, though."

I propped myself up a little and rested my hand on his chest. I didn't like laying my cards out, but it would be too easy for him to walk away, and as much as it would make sense for me to do the same, I didn't want to. "I want more of this, if you do."

"I almost didn't come looking for you tonight." He paused. "I thought I'd be asking for trouble. I spent the last few days trying to talk myself out of it."

"And how did that go for you?"

He barked out a laugh. "Not well. Obviously. So, yeah. I want more of this."

"Good. We're on the same page."

"I just don't see it going anywhere. We can't change the way we do things. It'll arouse suspicion."

"We still need to talk business. At least we'll have an excuse to see each other for that."

"I guess. Do your family know about you? That you're gay."

"No. My parents made no secret of the fact they hated gays when I was a kid. My father died in Croatia, in the war. There's only my mother now—Dubravka. She never changes her mind about anything once she's made it up. She would never accept me. The only person who knows is Christian. He got me out of that situation I got into."

"He works for you?"

"Yes, in the restaurant, and other stuff. He drives me around sometimes. Markus turned up at the restaurant one day."

"Markus?" Petter glanced at me. "He was your boyfriend? The one who spiked your drink, right?"

"Yeah. He was out and proud, and he didn't understand me hiding myself. So, he was sitting there looking at the menu and I almost shit myself. I told Christian to get him out of there and take him home."

"Fucker," Petter growled suddenly. "He could have outed you to your entire family and staff."

"I know. He understood my position better after that day. And luckily for me, Christian remembered his address from dropping him off. Then when I disappeared three months ago, and the Family were going crazy thinking something had happened to me, the first thing he did was go to see Markus. He told Christian what he knew about the leader of that gang and where he thought they operated from. Christian got me out. Shot the leader, too, he said."

"Sounds like a good guy."

"Yeah." Christian didn't know I knew his secret and that wasn't something I intended to tell Petter, or anyone else, until I had to. For the moment, I just watched Christian and let him find out only what I wanted him to know.

"My parents were the same in their views," Petter said.

"Did they know about you?"

"Yes. I made the mistake of coming out to them when I was sixteen. My father beat me half to death, then threw me out in the street with nothing but the clothes I was wearing."

"Oh, shit." I pressed closer against him. "That's terrible. I'm sorry. You said 'were.' Aren't they around anymore?"

"No. I'm originally from Gothenburg. I hitched a ride here and found a job. When I was eighteen, I got in with another kid who'd just joined the Mobsters and he vouched for me as a prospect. A year later I married Monica, and took her back home to meet my parents. I thought it might settle things. I found out they'd both been killed the year before in a train wreck."

"Did you only marry her for appearances?"

"Not only that. I did it for me. For peace of mind. Wherever I lived, or worked, I never found acceptance, so I hid who I am. I mean, can you imagine what the Mobsters would have done to me if they knew? I wouldn't be their fucking president, that's for sure." He chuckled.

"We have that in common, then." I nuzzled his ear. "You ever wish things were different?"

"You mean, me not be who I am? Sure, I had doubts about it. I didn't know if I even wanted to be president. The others wanted me to be, and practically forced me into it when I couldn't make my mind up." He rolled away from me and indicated the back of his shoulder, where the Mobsters president tattoo was. He turned back again. "Some of them pinned me down and inked that on me. I had no choice then."

"If you didn't want to step into that role, why did you kill Ulrik?"

Petter stiffened. "It was in the heat of the moment. He can be so stubborn. He didn't want a deal with you. He was hell bent on us going it alone, but we're not strong enough. I know that. You know that. We'll get pushed out if we don't get those fucking Delincuentas out of the picture. I was mad as hell, and I didn't even think about what I was doing. Then it was too late."

"We'll talk about it soon, okay? The business. Tomorrow maybe. Finalise things."

"Yeah. That'd be good."

"I sometimes wish I could walk away from the Family." I changed the subject again. "Live my own life the way I want."

"You could. You have enough money, I'm sure. You could walk out the door and never go back. Set up your own restaurant somewhere. Another city. Another country, even."

"Don't give me ideas." I grinned wistfully. "Maybe one day."

We stopped talking then and lay together in silence. Eventually, I drifted into sleep and when I opened my eyes, it was daylight. Petter was still with me, his back to my chest, my arm around him and his hand gripping my wrist. I turned my face into his neck and breathed in the scent of him. He felt so good, and I didn't want the moment to end. I was hard and I needed to piss, but I stayed still until his breathing changed and he moved a little.

"You awake?" I murmured.

"Yes."

"Give me a minute." I pulled away from him and went to the bathroom. When I returned, he was sitting on the edge of the bed. He got up without looking at me, and took his turn in the bathroom. I got back into the bed and waited for him.

Petter came back into the room and immediately looked around for his clothes. He avoided my eyes, and I knew he was about to bolt. I sat up and watched him, forcing myself to keep my mouth shut and wait for him to speak. He didn't say a word as he put on his underwear and tee shirt. He had his back to me, and I watched every move he made, studying his body language. His hands shook a little. He was tense and nervous, anxious to get away, but at the same time reluctant. He kept pausing, huffing out impatient breaths as if he were arguing with himself. He picked up his leather trousers, but then stood still. His shoulders slumped and he dropped the garment back on the floor and turned around.

Three strides and he reached the bed, kneeled on the mattress, and gripped my shoulders. Then his mouth covered mine. I closed my eyes and slid my arms around him. When we parted to breathe, he groaned and rested his forehead against mine.

"I need to go," he said huskily.

"Then go." I ran my hands over his back. Blunt nails dug into my shoulders, and he didn't move away. "Petter?"

"Can't. Fuck it." He let go of me, peeled off his tee shirt, and threw it across the room.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Davor and Zvonomir meet Petter and Alex, his new second in command, about business, but Davor doesn't find it so easy anymore, now that he's involved with Petter

The next morning I sat in my office, staring at Petter's number in my phone with my thumb hovering over it. I only wanted to talk to him about business, but I was as nervous as a kid calling for his first date. It was ridiculous. I was a grown man, almost thirty-one, and I'd been staring at my phone for an hour, too anxious to press the call button in case he didn't want to talk to me. Damn me all to hell.

I dragged a hand through my hair and closed my eyes for a moment. The door opened and Stefan came in. "Davor, can I talk to you?"

I jumped and glared. "What have I told you about knocking? What's so important you have to barge in here like you own the place?" I snarled.

"Whoa, I'm sorry!" Stefan took a step back, hands raised. "I'll, um, I'll come back later."

"What do you want?" I demanded.

"I, um, well, I want some, um, some more responsibility," he stammered. "I always used to get the good jobs. Why is Christian getting to do everything all of a sudden? He's only been here a few months. I'm practically your brother. What's going on?"

I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose. "Seriously? You're jealous of Christian? How old are you, Stefan? Because you're acting like a little kid. Get back to the restaurant. I'll tell you when I have a job for you. And close the door on your way out!"

He backed out of the room, red-faced, and closed the door.

"Shit," I muttered. "Shit!" I ran my hand through my hair again, then got up and checked myself in the mirror behind the desk to make sure I didn't look a mess. While I was up, I poured myself a large Scotch from the bottle in the corner cupboard. I'd teased Petter about needing Dutch courage. I chuckled and sat down again. I drank the whiskey and picked up my phone. This time I selected his number and pressed the call button before I could find another stupid reason not to.

"Yeah," he answered on the second ring. "Hold on." I waited a minute, listening to heavy boots stomping around and a door slamming. "Davor?"

"Yes. We need to set up a meeting."

"Okay." He cleared his throat. "Best not do that at your place, then."

"No. What about that house in the woods where we met last time?"

"Could do. Are you bringing the others?"

"I should. Zvonomir at least. If I do this alone, they'll want to know why."

"Sure."

"Do you have a second yet?" I asked him.

"Not officially, but I was thinking of picking Adam. Most of them expect that anyway. You've probably seen him before."

"Okay. When?"

"Tomorrow afternoon?" he suggested.

"Fine. Three o'clock."

"Right. Good."

There was a long silence. I could hear him breathing. I held my breath, willing my brain to find something else to say, but it failed me.

"Davor? You still there?"

"Yes. Let's get this meeting out of the way. Business should stay separate from, um, anything else."

"Right."

"I'll see you, then." I ended the call and wiped my sweaty palms on my suit trousers. Then I summoned Christian and informed him he would be driving us to the meeting the next day. Stefan would hate that, but screw him. I didn't respond to demands. Unless maybe Petter was making them when we were naked. I smirked to myself.

The next afternoon, Christian drove Zvonomir and me to the place where we'd met Petter and Ulrik before. Petter's silver truck was already there. Christian parked behind it.

"Stay here," Zvonomir instructed him. I knew Christian would follow us to learn what he could. That's what he did. He just didn't know I knew and I intended to keep it that way until I could use it to my advantage.

I led the way into the room where Petter waited, another Mobster who I vaguely recognised standing a little behind him. I assumed this was Adam.

"Davor," Petter greeted sternly.

"Afternoon."

"This is Adam," he introduced.

I nodded at Adam and introduced Zvonomir. After that, I talked, Petter responded a couple of times with as few words as possible, and the others listened. We agreed that Petter would arrange a meeting with their Turkish trafficker, which Majmun and I would attend. The Mimicas and the Mobsters would go halves on a vast quantity of heroin, much bigger than what the Mobsters could import on their own.

The meeting was over within fifteen minutes. "So, we're agreed. Call me when you have the meeting set up." I offered Petter my hand. He reached out to shake it. A quick glance at Zvonomir told me he was looking at the window with a frown on his face. Adam followed his gaze. I squeezed Petter's hand firmly and gave him the briefest smile. Then I let go. "Zvonomir?"

He was at the window now. "I thought I heard something."

"Probably some sort of animal." I shrugged. It was probably Christian, but if he was listening he'd know the meeting had wrapped up and would be back at the car in seconds. I turned and walked out the door, not trusting myself to look at Petter again, now Zvonomir's attention was back on me.

"Everything okay?" Christian asked as we climbed into the car. He looked like he hadn't moved from the seat.

"As expected." I nodded. "Take us home."

I hoped to get a chance to see Petter again in the next couple of days, preferably out of his leathers on my bed, but it didn't work out that way. He called me the next evening to let me know his contact in Turkey was flying over in two days' time. Monica had arranged a hotel room for her, and we were to meet there an hour after she arrived. It was moving much faster than I anticipated. As tempted as I was to ask him to see me the day after the meeting, I kept my mouth shut. I knew if I had the anticipation of getting together with him on my mind, I wouldn't be concentrating enough on business. But apparently Petter was thinking about it, too, and chose not to wait.

"What about after?" he asked slowly.

"After what?"

"The meeting."

I sighed. "What do you mean?"

There was a silence. "Nothing. Forget it." He hung up.

"Shit," I muttered, and banged my clenched fist onto the desk. I hadn't meant for this thing with him to be anything. I'd thought initially that one time would be enough for me. It wasn't, and after the second time it was clear it wasn't for him either. Now, I felt the unwelcome need to reassure him that I still wanted him. I called him back. He didn't answer right away and after the phone rang nine times I was about to end the call. Then he answered.

"What, Davor?"

"I want to see you," I said quickly. "Just, when business is taken care of."

"Okay. Good." He hung up again.

I shook my head as I put the phone back into my pocket. At least it was only Majmun who was attending the meeting with me. If I wasn't quite myself, I doubted he'd notice. He wasn't the most observant of men. Zvonomir on the other hand, would pick up on the slightest thing.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Davor realises he's really falling for Petter and an awkward conversation reveals Petter seems to feel the same

The meeting went well enough. I had Christian drive us again, much to Stefan's disappointment, although he didn't dare say anything. Rabia, the Turkish contact, agreed to arrange to get the shipment to us two weeks later. With Petter introducing us, she seemed happy enough to deal with me, and we exchanged numbers. We left the hotel separately, and Petter drove off in his truck moments before Christian drove us away in the opposite direction. I was impatient to call Petter, and I would have if Majmun hadn't been in the car. The moment I was back in my office, I called and arranged to see him the next day at my apartment.

Now, it was a week later and I lay awake, watching Petter sleep beside me. It was only the second time he'd spent the night with me, and other than a couple of hours the day after the meeting with Rabia, I hadn't seen him at all. I could have called him again, but I was reluctant to do all the running, and he hadn't called me. I wanted him so fucking badly, and from the way he behaved when we were together the last time, I knew he wanted me just as much. But neither of us would make a move. Until I went to my apartment a few hours ago and spotted him lurking outside the building in a red car. I tapped on the window. He got out of the car and followed me inside without either of us speaking a word.

We barely talked all evening. We just fucked. He admitted to having hung around outside a couple of times in the past few days, but hadn't seen me. I told him the apartment was my bolt hole and that mostly I lived at the family home, but that he shouldn't hesitate to call me if he wanted to meet up. Then we fucked some more and fell asleep. Now I was awake, watching him sleep in the dim light that filtered in from the moon-lit sky outside.

"I'm falling for you," I muttered, then cursed myself for saying it out loud. His deep, even breathing told me he wouldn't hear me, but even so, I was taking a risk. Did he feel the same, or did he just like the sex? Would he laugh in my face if he knew how involved I was getting? I didn't think so, but I'd never been in a position where I'd felt strongly enough to admit my feelings. I hadn't cared that much for Markus. I'd got fond of him, but I was too wary about him outing me to get really invested in it. But Petter had just as much to lose as I did. I wouldn't have to worry about him turning up at the restaurant and taunting me in front of my mother and the others. And in turn, he would never have to worry about me letting his people find out about him. The situation made everything more intense; more desperate.

"Petter," I murmured.

He stirred a little, sighing softly in his sleep. I traced his moustache with one finger. His mouth twitched and he wrinkled his nose. Then his eyes snapped open and met mine. "What are you doing?"

"Uh, nothing."

He grinned. "If you're going to touch me in my sleep, make it worthwhile." He caught my hand and pushed it down under the sheet to his soft dick. I cupped it and squeezed lightly. Then I let go and slid my arm around him. I didn't even know why I'd woken him, except that I wanted him to look at me. I leaned in and kissed his jaw. "You're not like I expected," he said, his voice rough from sleep.

"What did you expect?"

"I don't know. I didn't think we'd still be doing this."

"Neither did I, but I can't seem to stop."

He stayed silent. His heart rate rocketed—I could feel it where my arm rested across his chest. He licked his lips, like he was steeling himself to say something. I forced myself to wait it out.

"I've never been in this position," he said slowly.

"What? Sleeping with the enemy?" I teased.

"Fuck off. You know what I mean."

"No, I don't."

"Fuck you, Davor." He sighed and closed his eyes for a second. "I've never been back for more with anyone. Never wanted to."

"I should be flattered, then."

"Don't fuck with me."

"I'm not. Why do you think I'm still here? You know I want you."

"Yeah?"

I thought for a moment. He was still unsure about me. Maybe I was holding my cards too closely to my chest.

"Petter, I want you. I want this. I can't get enough," I admitted. "Is that what you wanted to hear?"

"I guess."

"Is it?" I pressed.

"Yes, all right? Fuck." He ran a hand over his eyes. "I hate talking about this shit."

"Get used to it. I'm going nowhere." I kissed his cheek. "Come on. You mean… something."

He snorted. "That's romantic."

"Dickhead." I punched him lightly. "Go back to sleep."

Instead, he rolled over to face me, and his erection bumped my thigh. "You woke me up too much."

I grinned. "So I see."

"Going to do something about it?"

I sighed dramatically. "If I must." I hesitated. I wanted to try something I hadn't done with him; that I'd only ever done with Markus and then it had been fairly reluctant on my part. But I wanted to do it for Petter. I tossed the sheet back and slid down the bed.

I wrapped my hand around his erection and rubbed my thumb over his tip, then guided it into my mouth. He gasped and clenched his fists at his sides. I stroked him, following my hand up and down with my lips, sucking firmly, sliding my tongue around, gently grazing with my tongue. He trembled and squirmed, cursing under his breath. I slid my free hand under him and slipped a finger inside. He was still wet from the lube and my come from earlier.

"Oh, fuck, Davor! Jesus Christ!"

I chuckled around him and continued. My own dick throbbed impatiently, and I rolled my hips against the mattress to get some friction. I put everything into making him enjoy it, and the sounds of his pleasure aroused me so much I knew I'd come without needing to be touched.

"Hey. You'd better stop," he gasped eventually. "Almost there."

I ignored him and when he shot his load in my mouth, I swallowed.

"Holy fucking hell," he muttered.

I pulled off and stretched out beside him.

"Give me a minute. I'll return the favour."

"No need." Laughing, I indicated the wet patch where I'd come all over the sheet. I pulled myself up again and slid a leg over him, straddling his thighs.

He slid his arms around me and met my eyes. "That was fucking amazing."

"Yeah?" I leaned down and brushed my lips across his. For the first time I wondered if maybe one day I could let him fuck me. I'd never considered it before, not even with Markus, much to his disappointment. And it had certainly been the last thing I wanted after what happened to me. But something had changed. Maybe I could do it with Petter, if I tried to get myself used to being touched there when I was alone.

"What are you thinking?" His brow wrinkled. "Not going all serious and romantic again, are you?" he teased.

"Fuck off." I rolled off him onto my back.

"Fair enough. Keep your secrets." He reached for the sheet and pulled it back over us. "I guess I could sleep some more now."


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dubravka and Blanka suspect that Davor is seeing a girl and tease him, much to his irritation. Later, Davor and Petter go on a date.

I didn't see Petter for ten days after that. We were too busy with the shipment coming in from Turkey. Once it was divided up between the Mobsters and the Family, there was plenty of work to do getting it distributed. Stefan was delighted to be involved in that operation, although I knew he'd try to fleece me by skimming some off the top and selling it himself. He always did. I paired him up with Christian, and told the pair of them I'd pay them well but if they cheated me, they'd get nothing.

I was irritable and impatient to get it done, not least because I was frustrated from jerking off alone. I'd wanted to get the business out of the way before I saw Petter again, and apparently he was of the same opinion, but now I was sick of waiting. I intended to call him that evening, and in the meantime I sat at the restaurant bar sipping a glass of wine and trying to relax.

Suddenly, my phone rang and when I checked the screen, it was Petter's number. My heart began to race, and I counted three rings before I answered, rather than connect immediately as if I'd been holding the phone waiting for him to call.

"Yes."

"It's—"

"I know," I interrupted. My mother wandered past me with a tray of coffees balanced on one hand and glanced at me curiously. I realised I was grinning and straightened my face.

"What are you doing?" Petter asked.

"Drinking wine. You?"

"I was thinking about heading out." That was about as close as he would get to asking to see me.

"Okay. I'll be at, uh—" I paused and glanced around me, but no one was in hearing distance now. Then I checked my watch. "At the apartment in about an hour." The hell with waiting until the evening.

"Right. I'll see you." He hung up.

"Bye," I replied to the dead phone.

"Who was that?" Dubravka reappeared beside me.

"A friend."

"Lady-friend?" Her eyes twinkled.

"It's early days."

"It's about time you met someone, Davor. Blanka's going to beat you to the altar at this rate."

"I'm not in any hurry to tie myself down." I was sick of this conversation. She started it every few months. When are you going to bring a girl home, Davor? When are you going to settle down?

"You're nearly thirty-one. It's time you were thinking about settling down and having a family."

I sighed. "Mother, we've talked about this. I like things the way they are. A few dates here and there."

"Well, you looked happy when your phone rang. At least tell me her name."

"Um—" All I could think of for a moment was Petter's name. Petter Hill. "Hilde."

"Do you have a picture?" she asked hopefully.

"No."

"A description, then?"

I groaned. "I don't know. Sort of light brown hair, dark blond, I guess. Grey-blue eyes."

"Is she Swedish?"

"Yes."

"How old is she?"

Blanka appeared at my other side, smiling. "Does Davor have a girlfriend?"

"Hell, not you, too." I rolled my eyes. "Not really. It's casual."

"She's called Hilde," Dubravka said, beaming.

Blanka frowned. "I don't know anyone called Hilde. Where did you meet her?"

"In a bar. Will you two leave me alone? It's not serious, nor is it likely to be." I got up and stalked off upstairs, leaving a trail of giggles behind me. Fifteen minutes later, I left the restaurant and drove to my apartment. Thank God they didn't know about it. It was leased under one of my fake IDs that I kept a secret, too, so they weren't likely to find out about it.

I stared out of the window at the street while I waited for Petter to arrive, and eventually, I saw him park his motorcycle at the end of the block and walk towards the building. He kept his helmet, dark glasses, and scarf on, obscuring his face, and he carried an enormous backpack. I buzzed him in and waited impatiently for him to get to my door. He stepped in, dumped the backpack, and removed his helmet and glasses.

"What's in there?" I indicated the backpack. "Dead body?"

He snorted. "Bike gear. I thought we'd go for a ride." He opened the backpack and pulled out a leather jacket, clearly brand new.

"I'm not a biker." I frowned.

"You don't have to ride, you sit on the pillion."

I hesitated. I was a shirt and suit guy. I travelled by car, and more often than not had a driver. Markus had been like me—he liked fine dining, and wines, and going to the theatre. And clubbing. I grimaced at that thought, and realised Petter would probably think I was making a face at the idea of going out on his motorcycle.

He looked uncertain. "Well, you don't have to. It was just an idea."

Feeling like a bit of a heel, I took the jacket from him. "How do you know this will fit me?"

"I've had my hands all over your body, Davor, I think I can guess your size." He smiled a little. "It's cold out there. A suit won't cut it."

"All right." I checked what else was in the backpack—a heavy sweater, leather pants, boots, gloves, helmet, and scarf. "Did you buy all this stuff?"

"Well, I didn't think Monica's would fit you." He grinned more, eyes twinkling. "Are you up for this, then?"

"Why not? I don't often do anything fun."

Petter beamed. "Hurry up and get changed. I thought we could get out of the city. Go and have something to eat somewhere nobody knows us."

I tossed my suit jacket onto the back of the couch and picked up the thick blue sweater. Five minutes later, I had all the gear on. Other than the boots being a size too big for my feet, everything fitted fine. I glanced at myself in the mirror and laughed. I actually looked the part. A prickle of excitement ran through me as we descended to street level and walked to Petter's bike. I already had the helmet and scarf on, hiding my face.

I did as he told me and sat on the back seat of the bike, which was a big heavy cruiser, comfortable for two people to ride a long distance on. When he started the engine, I wrapped my arms around his waist and held tight. I didn't ask him where he intended to take me. I didn't care. I never did anything like this, and it seemed like a big adventure. After two minutes, I already loved it.

We left Stockholm and travelled north to Uppsala, which took about an hour. Petter turned the bike into the centre of the city and rolled along slowly, gazing left and right as if looking for something. Eventually, we pulled up outside a pizzeria and he cut the engine. He pulled off his helmet and turned his head.

"Is this okay? We can't go to the sort of restaurant you're probably used to, looking like a pair of thugs."

I removed my helmet and scarf, and grinned. "You think I'm a snob that only likes fancy restaurants?"

"I think you're better than me," he said, not smiling.

"Don't be so serious. This is fine. I'm having a good time." I paused, then went on. "Just because I was brought up to appreciate fine things, doesn't mean I'm any better than you, and it doesn't mean I won't enjoy going anywhere you want to go." I took a quick look around. The street was empty. I leaned closer and brushed my lips across his cheek. "Let's eat. I'm starving."

He relaxed and smiled. "I picked this place because it's run by two guys who are together. They won't care about us."

We got off the bike and headed into the restaurant. We were immediately greeted by an extremely effeminate man.

"Table for two?"

"Yes, please," Petter said. "I didn't book."

"That's no problem, we have plenty of free tables at this time of day. Would you like to sit by the windows, or do you prefer a more secluded spot?"

I pointed towards the back of the restaurant, where a table partly hidden by a partition and a huge indoor plant could be seen.

"Certainly, Sirs, come this way." He took us to the table which was covered with a plastic tablecloth, gave us a drinks menu and two menus for the food, and hovered, waiting for instructions. We sat opposite each other, and shrugged out of our leather jackets, placing the helmets, gloves, and other accessories on the spare chairs. Petter was wearing a thick green sweater, similar to the one he'd bought for me.

"I'll have a beer," he requested.

I glanced at the menu, which had a few cheaper wines listed, various beers, and spirits. I wasn't a beer-drinker, but not because I didn't like it, only that the Family always drank wine with meals, and usually whiskey or brandy in the evenings. I drank vodka when I went to bars. "Make that two," I said.

The waiter scurried off to fetch the drinks. I picked up the food menu. I wasn't keen on pizza, I found it stodgy. There was a good selection of pastas, however, and I decided to have spaghetti and meatballs. When our drinks arrived, we ordered the food—Petter chose carbonara. The waiter took the menus away and we sipped our beers.

I was uncharacteristically nervous. We were on a date, I realised. We didn't know each other very well, and so far all we'd done was fuck at my apartment. I didn't know how to behave. I'd been on dates with Markus—dinners, the theatre, and so on. I was too worried about being caught to get anywhere near him in Stockholm, but if we ate at his apartment or mine, we held hands across the table, maybe even kissed a little. What should I do with Petter? Anything? I didn't see him as the hand-holding type.

I glanced around and spotted another couple on the other side of the room. They both wore jeans and sweaters and sat side by side. The elder one slid his arm around the younger, and they leaned close together, whispering. The elder one forked up something from his plate and put it in the younger one's mouth.

I turned my attention back to Petter, who was staring at me thoughtfully. "You okay? Is this too much?"

"No. I like it, honestly. I just haven't done much of it." I smiled at him.

"Well, I've never done it."

"We should make the most of it, then." I clinked my glass against his and took another mouthful of beer. When I put the glass down, I placed my hand on the table close enough to brush a finger across his knuckles. He grinned and snagged my finger between his thumb and his index finger. I stroked my thumb over his and traced the shape of the heavy thumb ring he wore. He had his head down, staring at our hands, and I took the opportunity to look at his face. He had long eyelashes, I noticed—light brown like his facial hair. His nose turned up at the end in an innocuously cute way for a gang president. I smiled, and quickly straightened my face when he looked up.

The food arrived twenty minutes' later, and it was delicious. We decided not to have dessert but ordered another beer each. We'd barely spoken since we arrived, and I wondered what we could talk about. Business was out of the question, and sex would only make us horny and impatient to get back. I'd never had to think of conversation with Markus, because I could barely get a word in once he got started. But Petter was as silent and awkward as I was. I wanted to be with him so much, but what hope was there if neither of us could talk?


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rest of the date goes well, but when Davor does the right thing by warning Petter to get rid of his gun, he worries he might lose Petter because of what he's done

Petter leaned back in his chair, sipping his beer and studying me over the rim of his glass. I delved into my mind for something to say and remembered he once commented that I could go anywhere I wanted and set up my own restaurant if I so desired. What would he do?

"What would you do if you weren't a Mobster?" I asked.

His eyebrows lifted a little, and his face relaxed. "I'm not sure. I haven't thought about it that much. I've been with them all my adult life. I might open a bike shop or something like that. I do all my own repairs and modifications, and for the others guys who don't know how to." He carried on talking, about his first bike which he still had, various modifications he'd done to another one, and so on. He clearly had a passion for it and although I wasn't a biker and didn't know anything about them, I listened with interest and prompted him with questions. And there it was. We were talking.

He leaned forward again, animated. It was easy to slide my hand into his as it rested on the table. He squeezed my fingers as he wrapped up what he was telling me. "What about you? I know what I said before, but would you do that if you had the chance? Open another restaurant?"

"Probably. It's all I've known. We had a restaurant back in Croatia when I was a kid. It was destroyed in the war and we lost everything. When we came here, my mother borrowed money from friends and opened a little pizzeria. Kind of like this one, but much smaller. Gradually, we started to make money. Vino Mondana is Croatian. There was nothing like it in Stockholm, so we quickly became popular. If I left the city, I suppose it would depend on the place I was in, as to what I'd choose. If you offer similar food to a bunch of others, you have to be either cheap, or perfect. Do something no one else has, and you can charge what you like."

"Makes sense." Petter drained his glass.

"Do you want another?" I suggested.

He shook his head. "No, I have to ride the bike."

"Do you want to stay here tonight? I mean, in a hotel?" I stroked circles in his palm with my thumb.

He smirked. "Can't you wait an hour to get back?"

"I can wait, but why rush? We might as well enjoy ourselves while we're here."

"All right." He pulled his hand free. "I was going to pay for this, but I'm not sure what the rules are."

I chuckled. "There aren't any. You pay for dinner, I'll pay for the hotel. Okay?"

"Okay." He raised a hand and summoned the waiter with our bill, which he paid in cash including a generous tip.

When we stepped outside, the temperature had dropped noticeably, and I was glad we weren't going to ride back to Stockholm. I checked out the options on my phone and called a hotel, rather than ride around wasting time. The first one I tried had no vacancies, but the second had some, and didn't seem to care about letting two men have a room together. I reserved it under a fake name and hung up.

"Who did you say you are?" Petter raised his eyebrows.

"Hugo Jonsson. It's one of my fake IDs. I don't want to leave a trail all over."

"Good point." He put on his scarf, helmet, and gloves, and started the bike. I climbed on the back, shivering despite the warm gear. Fortunately, we only had to travel a mile.

The hotel was of average quality—large and impersonal, with so many staff and other guests, they would never remember a face. I paid for the room in cash and took the key card. Five minutes later, we were in a large en suite room with two queen size beds, a minibar, and a TV mounted on the wall.

Petter removed his bike gear except for his trousers, then glanced from one bed to the other, face serious. "Which bed do you want?"

My jaw dropped a little. "I, um—"

"Your face." He snorted with laughter, charged at me, and threw us both into the middle of the nearest bed.

"You fucker." He was on top of me, almost crushing me with his weight. Rather than push him off, I slid my arms around him, and parted my legs so he rested between them. It felt surprisingly good. I stroked my hand down his back and tucked it into the back of his trousers. He groaned, then made to pull himself off me with apparent reluctance. I held him still.

"Hey." I touched his face. The usually clean-shaven parts were rough and stubbly. "I know you want to fuck me."

"And I know you don't want that, which I can understand."

"I want you to get what you want, too," I murmured. "Give me some time. We can try it."

"Are you sure?"

"No, I'm not sure, but I'm willing to experiment. You have to remember, I was pretty out of it that time. I know what happened, but for most of it, I wasn't actually aware of what was going on. I'll let you know when I'm ready, okay?"

"Sure. No hurry. Whatever you want." He lowered his head and kissed me. I closed my eyes and melted into it. My heart pounded so hard I thought it might burst, and I felt a little queasy now I'd voiced what I'd been thinking. I hadn't meant to tell him that—not yet. I was getting in way too deep, but I didn't want to stop.

Eventually, we stopped kissing long enough to get undressed. We sucked each other, I fucked him, and we showered together, before we tumbled into the other freshly made bed to sleep. It was only then that I remembered something—something that had once been an insurance policy, and could be a potential problem to us both if I didn't warn him. I knew the police were sniffing around the Mobsters, because they hadn't figured out yet that it was the Family they should have been spending more time looking into. Only one cop so far had spent time investigating, and Majmun had dealt with that.

"Petter, I need to tell you something."

He was lying with his back to my chest, my arm around him and his hand gripping my wrist the way we usually lay when we slept together.

"Mm? What?" he said sleepily.

"It's important." I licked my lips. He could hate me for this.

"Mm. Am listening."

"You need to get rid of your gun. The TOZ."

"Why?" He yawned.

"Majmun used it to kill that cop, Sven, whatever his name was. And the farmer who tried to help him. And, uh, Sara Andersson." I cringed as I mentioned Ulrik's wife.

"What?" Petter twisted around and sat up.

"Majmun found the gun in your garage. We needed to get rid of Sven, and we wanted the trail to lead, uh, somewhere else, if the cops found it. He always wore gloves, so it will only have your prints on it. He put the it back where he found it after. I bet you didn't even miss it."

"No." His jaw twitched. "Why are you telling me this now?"

"Why do you think? You're important to me. The whole thing was fucked up. He could have used any gun and got rid of it, but we thought it'd be better to use one that led directly to, um, to someone else."

"To me. You wanted me to go away for murder?"

"I didn't know you then." I sat up, groaning. "There's no excuse for it. I'm my mother's son. She's a viper, and I grew up to be the same. I'm sorry. I'm telling you now. Before the police find anything out, if they ever do. Doesn't that count for something?"

"I'm not sure." He pulled away from me completely and got out of the bed. "I need to think about things."

The fact that he had actually killed Ulrik came into my mind, but I didn't voice that. He hadn't used the TOZ to shoot his president, because Majmun had only put it back the day after the meeting. Assumedly the weapon he used had already been got rid of.

"I should have told you earlier," I said with a sigh. "I only remembered it just now. I'm sorry, Petter."

"So am I." He sat on the edge of the other bed, head down, and fiddled with the bracelet on his left wrist.

I wanted to go to him and try to make things better, but I stayed where I was. He was angry, or maybe upset. Maybe both. How would I feel if he'd done that to me? Probably as if the bottom had fallen out of my world. I lay back down and stared at the ceiling, waiting for him to do or say something. Perhaps an hour passed, and despite my anxiety I had almost fallen asleep, when he slid back into the bed beside me, and pressed up close. He was freezing cold, but I hugged him against me in relief, my throat tight with an emotion I wasn't used to.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Davor and Petter's date ends well in the hotel, despite Davor's confession. But back in Stockholm, a week passes with Davor unable to reach Petter on the phone and he starts to worry.

When I woke, Petter was sitting up cross-legged, drinking a cup of coffee. I lay still, trying to keep my breathing even. I had never been very concerned about the consequences of anything before, but I was worried I would lose him over this. I wanted to pretend to be asleep for as long as possible so I didn't have to talk to him and find out which way it would go, but I wasn't convincing enough.

"I know you're awake." He finished his coffee and put the cup on the cabinet beside the bed.

"Only just." I faked a yawn. He didn't respond, but he looked down at me and met my eyes. I was unsure of myself but I had to do something. I put my hand on his thigh under the sheet and stroked along the inside of it, then back down to his knee.

His lips twitched a little. "Is that all you ever think about?"

"When I've got an incredibly fucking hot naked Mobster sitting next to me? You expect me to be thinking about something else? Mm?" I ran my hand back up his thigh and found his erection.

He didn't laugh. He pulled my hand off him and held it instead. "Did you mean what you said last night?"

"Which part?"

"About me being—" He cleared his throat and looked away. "Important."

"Yes, I meant it." I extricated my hand from his grip and slid my arm around him. "Come here. Lie down with me."

He stretched out under the sheet and I rolled over onto him, pushing my knees between his thighs. Then I covered his mouth with mine. He closed his eyes and groaned as he kissed me back. There was no urgency in it—I kissed him with everything I had in me, and it occurred to me I'd never even kissed Markus like that after three months. When I broke the kiss to breathe and rested my forehead against his, I reached down and guided myself into him. He was still wet and stretched enough from before we went to sleep.

Just like the kiss, there wasn't the usual desperation in it. We moved slowly together, savouring every thrust and slide, holding onto each other and kissing every few moments. The lump in my throat threatened to choke me, and I kept my eyes closed most of the time, suddenly scared to let him see my feelings. Not so long ago, I'd thought I would fall for him and I hadn't made any effort to stop that happening. Now it was too late.

When it was over, we lay together, still in each other's arms, until I glanced at my watch and realised that if we didn't get up we'd miss breakfast, and then we'd have to check out. I moved reluctantly, gave Petter one last kiss, and sat up. "We should have a quick shower and get something to eat."

"All right."

We shared the shower, then got dressed. We left most of the bike gear in the room and went down to the hotel restaurant. There was plenty of food available, and we stuffed ourselves with bacon, eggs, potatoes and toast, and had better coffee than that which was available in the room. Then we grabbed the rest of our gear and checked out.

The ride back to Stockholm was cold, but not too bad. Petter dropped me off at my apartment, then headed home. I went in to change out of the bike gear, and put it in my wardrobe for future outings. An hour later, I reluctantly returned to the restaurant. I had work to do.

The Family were setting up another deal, this time with some Russians. It was nothing to do with the Mobsters and I didn't plan on telling Petter about it—there was no need. He had what he wanted. We were sharing the Stockholm market with the Turkish gear. But the Family planned to take over the entire coastal region with a much larger heroin shipment than we could get from Turkey. For the first time, I had my doubts about doing it. I was distracted, and I kept thinking about a future I'd talked about with Petter—another place, another life. A restaurant, all above board where I could relax and be myself.

Then Zvonomir came to me to tell me what I already knew—we had an infiltrator passing information to the police, and if we wanted to pull off this deal, we needed to get rid of him. Sven had already been despatched, and his place had quickly been filled. Zvonomir didn't have any idea who, only that the cops were getting too close and were obviously getting their information from someone. Then Stefan came to me and told me he thought Christian was the rat. The little weasel was going to blow everything, but he wouldn't keep his mouth shut.

The situation took my mind off Petter. I had to focus and figure out a way to shut Stefan up, but the stupid little bastard did that himself by fixing a basketball game, bribing one team, and placing huge bets on the way things would go. I didn't go to the game, but Pawel and Zvonomir did, and reported back that Stefan had been seen talking to a cop and accepting money. I suspected it was a set up by the police, to provide cover for the real infiltrator, but I went along with it. I wanted rid of Stefan.

The guy irritated me and always had done. Our family had adopted him before we left Croatia, when all of his family were killed and he was left with no one. He grew up with us and was besotted with Blanka from puberty. She liked him at first, but as he got older, and nastier, I could see she wasn't into it any longer, but she was scared to do anything about it. I'd been thinking about stepping in to help her and now I could kill two birds with one stone. I talked to Pawel and Majmun, and arranged a meeting in the woods with Stefan, Christian, Jovan, and Zvonomir. Since Stefan had literally just bought Blanka a ring, he was convinced we had arranged a little stag party for him, and was delighted.

I wanted Christian to do the deed. Then I'd have something on him, but telling him to do it wouldn't work. So, we blindfolded Stefan and I put the gun in Jovan's hand. The kid was terrified and in tears, shaking all over, begging us not to make him do it. And Christian took over. I was kind of proud of him when he pulled the trigger, all the while looking into Stefan's face while he sobbed and pleaded and pissed his pants.

I gave Majmun a look and he nodded. The rest of us got in the car and left him there in the woods to deal with the body and the gun. It was done, and all that was left for me to do was tell Blanka. Our mother had already instructed me not to tell her the truth. Although Stefan had been unkind to her, presumably she cared for him a little. We decided to explain he'd got himself into hot water and put our security at risk, so we sent him back to Croatia.

Blanka looked sceptical when Dubravka and I talked to her, but she didn't question it. If anything, she seemed relieved that she wouldn't have to go through with a wedding to him, and be stuck with him her whole life.

Two days later, I called Petter. I had some time before anything more happened on the Russian deal, and I badly wanted to see him. But his phone went straight to voicemail. I tried three times that day and two the next, but got the same result—voicemail. I didn't leave a message, but I began to worry about it. Perhaps he was still angry about what I'd told him; about what we could potentially have done to him. Even though things had ended well when we parted, if he'd spent time thinking about how we'd set him up to take the rap for three murders he had nothing to do with, maybe he just didn't want to see me anymore. I didn't want to admit it, but it killed me. I longed for him—even just to hear his voice.

After a week, I left a message—I couldn't stop myself. I wasn't even careful about it. I was at the restaurant bar, but it was closed, and no one was around. Christian and Pawel were in the kitchen, Zvonomir was in the office, Blanka was at college, and my mother was singing to herself as she gathered up glasses from tables down the far end of the room.

"Petter, it's me. Your phone's been off for a while. Just call me. Talk to me." I paused. "I miss you." I ended the call and put the phone in my pocket. "Please call me," I whispered to myself.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Petter gets in touch to explain why he's been silent for so long, and when they see each other the next day, Davor cooks a meal for him.

The next morning, my phone woke me as it vibrated on the table beside my bed. I groped for it, my eyes still unfocussed from sleep, and answered without looking at the caller display.

"Uh huh."

"Davor."

"Hey!" Instantly I was awake.

"Sorry, I, um, my kid's been in the hospital. My phone's been off."

Both relief and horror filled me at the same time: relief that he called, and shock that one of his kids was sick or hurt. I couldn't imagine what it would be like to have kids, but I knew plenty of people who did, and they'd be distraught if anything happened to them.

"What happened to, um, him? Her?"

"Per. He broke his arm in three places. Fell out of a tree. He takes after me. I was always doing shit like that when I was a kid. He's okay now. Had two surgeries. They fucked up the first one and had to redo it." He sighed heavily. "It sucks, seeing your kid in pain like that. So, I spent the last few days in the hospital most of the time, or looking after Oscar at home if Monica was there. Oscar's my four-year-old."

"I'm sorry, that must have been hell. How is Per now?"

"Better. He's home, and begging all my boys to draw tattoos on his cast." He laughed a little. "So, um, you missed me, did you?"

I rolled my eyes. "Did I really say that?"

"You said it. It's on my voicemail."

"Well, I guess that must be true, then." For the first time in about fifteen years, I felt heat in my face.

Petter laughed. "Where are you?"

"In bed."

He groaned. "Fuck, don't tell me that."

"You could join me." I sat up and ran a hand through my hair. "No, bad idea. I'm at the house."

Now, he laughed. "Yeah, I don't think the Family Mimica would be too happy to see me."

"Can you get away today?"

"Maybe not. Monica has some shit to do. I need to stay home with the kids. Tomorrow?"

"Okay. I'll be at the apartment then. Just come over when you're ready."

"Will do. I have to go now. See you." He ended the call.

I put the phone down. Everything was okay with us. Obviously I wasn't happy his son got hurt, but at least he hadn't been avoiding me by switching his phone off.

The Family ate together that evening. It was Sunday and the restaurant closed at eight, meaning we could enjoy a meal together as was tradition. Stefan's place at the table was conspicuously empty. I glanced around the others, all in their usual places: Blanka, Pawel, Christian, Zvonomir, Jovan, my mother. I ate in silence, not really listening to the conversation going on around me. My mind was on Petter. The last time we'd seen each other he'd brought all that new bike gear for me. I should buy him something, but what? The only lover I'd ever bought anything for had been Markus, and even then, only because it had been his birthday. I gave him an Omega wristwatch.

"Davor!" Blanka shouted at me suddenly.

"What?" I jumped and put my wineglass down so hard, the wine inside sloshed over the rim.

"You're so off with the fairies, you didn't hear anything I just said to you."

I glared. "It can't have been very important, then."

The others fell silent.

"Blanka was asking if you've seen Hilde lately," Dubravka said.

"Who's Hilde?" Jovan immediately put in.

I groaned. "No one."

"She's his girlfriend," Blanka told him.

I slammed the palm of my hand onto the table. "I don't have a girlfriend," I snapped. "I told you it was a casual thing, but you won't drop it."

"I think he protests too much." Pawel chuckled and choked on the mouthful of food he was chewing.

"There's no need to be embarrassed about it, Davor. We all want to see you happy," Dunbravka said.

"Jesus Christ," I muttered.

"So, are you seeing this Hilde, or not?" Zvonomir eyed me across the table in his sly way.

"No, all right? I was, but I'm not any more. It's done. Now, can we talk about something else?"

Some of them glanced at me sceptically, but they started talking about other things again, except for Zvonomir. Every time I looked his way, he was staring at me thoughtfully, as if he didn't believe me.

The next day, I had Christian drive me into the city. I picked up a couple of new ties, a pair of shoes, some groceries, and a bottle of Jack Daniels.

"I thought you preferred Scotch," he said.

"I like both." I frowned.

"Is it for, um, a friend?"

"What do you mean?"

"Your family keep teasing you about a girl. Are you seeing someone?"

I sighed.

"I don't expect you to answer that. I'm just interested. You know I would never say anything."

"Yes, I'm seeing someone. I made up that stupid name, Hilde, thinking it would get them off my back. But no, now they're imagining me at the altar, for fuck's sake."

Christian grinned. "What's he like?"

"I've said all I'm going to say. You can drop me at the bar on Twelfth Street."

"What do I tell the Family?"

"That you dropped me at the bar on Twelfth Street."

"Yes, boss." He smiled, and turned the car into the street. I almost wished he wasn't who he was. If he'd really been one of us, he would probably be the one I could trust more than any of the others.

Petter arrived at my apartment an hour after I did. He didn't have his bike gear with him and I guessed he'd brought his truck, or the red car which I'd learned was Monica's. A few flakes of snow were falling, so I supposed it would be too cold on a motorcycle, and probably too slippery. I buzzed him in and waited in the open doorway for him to get out of the lift. No one was around, and as soon as he reached me, I grabbed him and pulled him against me. We started kissing before we got the door closed.

When he pulled away to get out of the thick fur-lined leather jacket he was wearing, he laughed. "You really did miss me."

"Yes, I missed you, you fucker." I didn't care about saying it. I was too happy to have him with me.

"I missed you, too." He didn't stop at the outer jacket, but began unbuttoning the denim jacket he wore underneath. Beneath that, was a tee shirt with some band's name on it that I'd never heard of. He pulled that off, too. I realised I was standing staring and doing nothing, and I quickly began to take off my clothes, backing towards the bedroom as I did so.

...

"This feels good." Petter nuzzled my neck and ran his hand down my back. It was a couple of hours later, and we were buried under my blankets, cuddling and not talking.

"Yeah, it does." I tilted my head down and kissed his ear. "You hungry?"

"Getting that way."

"What do you want to eat?"

"I don't care. I'll eat anything within reason." He rolled onto his back and stretched. "What are you thinking?"

"I'll make something."

"Oh, you cook?" He grinned at me as I sat up.

"Of course I cook, I own a fucking restaurant." I slid out of the bed and went to take a quick shower. Petter stayed in bed until I finished. I put on a pair of black trousers and the blue sweater he gave me, and went into the kitchen. A few minutes later, I heard the shower running.

I poured myself a glass of wine and set about making a beef and mushroom goulash with potatoes. I found some jazz music on my phone and placed it on the windowsill to accompany me as I chopped, sliced, and stirred.

Petter appeared after a while, wearing his jeans and the denim jacket, unfastened, his hair wet. "That smells good."

"It's goulash."

"Croatoan?"

"No, Hungarian. It's just something I like. You want some wine?"

He wrinkled his nose.

"Oh, well, I got you something." I indicated the bottle bag on the counter. "Help yourself."

"You don't have to buy me stuff."

"It's not much, compared to all that gear you got for me."

He pulled out the bottle. "Okay. This, I appreciate." He found a glass and poured a generous measure. Then he reached for my phone. "What the hell is this shit you're playing?"

I laughed. "You can change it. I like most types of music."

A minute later, ACDC's "Thunderstruck" filled the kitchen. I finished making the meal and we sat down to eat together. I felt happy, I realised. I couldn't remember a situation in my past where I'd known real happiness and enjoyed myself like this. I didn't want it to end, and I knew I'd do everything I could to make sure that didn't happen.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Petter is unable to stay the night with Davor, and Davor thinks seriously about giving Petter more in bed.

"You're not staying, are you?" I asked Petter, after he declined another whiskey and asked for coffee instead.

"I can stay a while, but not the night. I'm sorry. Per's been sort of clingy since his accident. I don't want him to get up in the morning and I'm not there."

"It's okay." I made us both coffee, and we went to sit on one of the couches in the living room. "Did you always want a family?"

"Yeah, probably more so because I didn't think I would be able to have one. I knew I was gay when I was about twelve or thirteen. When I got older and people I knew were dating and stuff, and talking about possible futures, I didn't see the same thing for me. I couldn't imagine adopting kids, or using a surrogate." He grimaced a little. "I wanted my own. When I met Monica, things sort of fell into place. She had some shit to deal with in her teenage years and she didn't want to get involved with a man right away. All the young guys our age that she knew were only keen to get into her pants, but she wanted to study, set up a future for herself, and then have a couple of kids. She saw me as safe to be with while she did that. It worked for both of us."

"What did she study?"

"She's a nurse. Well, she did all the training including on the job, but when she qualified there wasn't a suitable position open locally. We talked more about kids and she decided it was the right time. She would go back to nursing later. She never did, it though. The Mobsters keep her busy." He grinned. "She patches us all up whenever anything happens—broken noses, knife wounds, whatever. She's even taken a bullet out. She has a whole bunch of equipment. The spare bedroom in our house is like a surgery."

"I'll know where to come if I get shot or anything." I finished my coffee and took his hand in mine. "Has she ever had to fix you up?"

"Only this." He indicated the corner of his left eye, where there was a small crease. "I got cut once. It was a miracle the fucking knife didn't take my eye out. I moved at the last second. She put a couple of stitches in, and it healed fine."

"She sounds amazing."

"Yeah." He paused and grinned. "She knows I'm seeing someone, just not who. She'd probably take one of her scalpels to me if she found out."

We talked for an hour, about all manner of things. We had the same opinion on a lot of subjects. Petter even showed me a photo of his kids that he kept in his wallet. They were both blond and grey-eyed.

"They're good-looking," I said. "They look a lot like you."

He laughed. "Are you saying I'm good-looking?"

"You know you look good. Where's the blond hair come from?" I remembered Monica was brunette.

"I'm blond, or was when I was their age. My hair went darker by the time I hit puberty. Your sister's blonde, isn't she?"

I laughed. "Yes, out of a bottle, though. She's as dark as me."

He stayed another couple of hours, then went home. After he left, I paced around, irritable and annoyed with myself for longing for him so much. We hadn't spent the night together many times, but I'd come to expect it and I hated that he wasn't there.

I poured myself a large Scotch and tried to watch something on TV, but nothing held my interest. I switched it off, and thought about our time together that day; how we'd barely managed to get my apartment door shut before we grabbed each other, desperate to get out of our clothes. My dick filled, as I remembered the taste of his mouth; the feel of his hands on me; his warm skin; his tight heat gripping me. And then I remembered what I'd said to him in the hotel, about how maybe I could try having him fuck me sometime. Could I?

I tried to imagine it—his muscular thighs between mine, and his erection pressing inside me. My dick throbbed. I got up and went to my bedroom. The sheets were tangled and smelled of sex, but I didn't change them—it could wait until tomorrow. I just straightened them, took off my clothes, and slid into the bed.

My heart raced and my hands shook as I reached for the lube. I couldn't quite believe I was going to do this, but I wanted to try. If I didn't, I could never let Petter touch me like that. I coated my fingers and reached down.

It wasn't as difficult as I expected. My finger slid inside and it didn't hurt, but it felt strange. I closed my eyes and tried to imagine Petter doing it. His fingers were thicker than mine. He'd probably be kissing me too, his erection rubbing against my leg as he got all worked up thinking about fucking me.

I added a second finger, and grunted at the tightness and slight discomfort. I was clenching up, and I tried to breathe and relax, the same as I told him those first couple of times. It started to feel good. I thrust in as far as I could reach, and stroked my dick with the other hand. In my head, Petter guided himself into me and buried himself balls deep. And then my fucked up head changed things and I was lying face down on a narrow bunk, my head spinning from the drugs, and some unknown guy slamming into me, not caring whether I was ready or not. The vague memory of the horrible burning pain and the thought of what was happening made me feel sick.

I pulled my fingers out and sat up gasping, my erection gone. No. Not yet. I couldn't do it. If I started doing this with Petter and freaked out, I'd feel ridiculous, and he'd probably try to comfort me which would make me feel worse. I shuddered and clenched my fists. I knew he understood, but I still felt like I should give him more. Just not yet.

I went to the bathroom to wash my face and clean my teeth. My stomach churned. I didn't even remember much about what had happened to me, but my imagination wasn't my best friend. I couldn't shake the images of me going through that, as if I were watching from outside. My back was cut up and bleeding, and I didn't know how it got that way. I was bruised, too, around my ribs, as if I'd taken a good kicking. It was late morning by the time Christian got to me. I'd been there for hours. How many guys could have been in me during that time? I hadn't let myself think about that too much before, but now I couldn't stop myself. I swallowed hard to stop myself vomiting, and punched the mirror instead. A spiderweb of cracks appeared across the glass, and when I checked my stinging knuckles, they were bleeding.

I washed and bandaged my hand and got myself another large Scotch. I gulped it down, then refilled the glass. I wouldn't think about this again. It was my own fault for trying to give Petter more when I clearly wasn't ready.

I finished the second drink and went back to bed, wishing I wasn't alone. I really wanted his arms around me right now.

My phone beeped with a text message, and I picked it up, surprised. 'Sorry I had to leave. Wish I could have stayed the night. P.'

I relaxed and grinned. He wasn't here, but at least he was thinking about me; wanting me. Instantly, I felt better. We really had something. The least likely couple of guys to ever get together, and it was becoming something amazing. I tapped out a brief reply. 'Miss you. See you soon. D.'


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Petter is arrested for murder, and when Davor bribes Christian into trying to get Petter out of his cell, they're horrified by what they find.

The next morning, business took over. Zvonomir, Majmun, Christian, and I took a boat to Kaliningrad to sort out the Russian deal. It was moving fast, and despite still being shaken up from shooting Stefan, Christian was incredibly interested in the details, which he would be. When we returned to Stockholm three days later with everything in place, I talked to Majmun away from the others.

"I could just kill him," Majmun suggested.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because he's useful. While he's alive, we can feed him what we want to."

Majmun frowned. "Why do you like him so much? Is there anything in what Zvonomir said?"

"What the fuck are you talking about?" I glared at him, and my heart rate accelerated. That sneaky old bastard had been watching me a lot lately.

"He thinks you're queer. Are you?"

"No! And what the fuck does that have to do with anything anyway?" Anxiety filled me. How could Zvonomir have found out?

Majmun just stared back at me. "I don't give a shit either way, but if you're fucking Christian, that changes things. You know he could take us all down with a phone call?"

"I'm not fucking him, or anyone. Jesus Christ." I made a face as if the thought made me feel sick.

"Okay." He shrugged. "So, what are we going to do about him, then?"

We made a plan to feed Christian information about where the shipment from Russia would land—a boathouse up the coast. It would draw the team of cops investigating to the wrong place, while Majmun greeted the submarine in the actual landing spot and moved the heroin ashore. Majmun would wire the area in and around the boathouse with explosives. By the time the cops finished gathering up the body parts of their colleagues, the drugs would have been sent out to various dealers and long gone.

"I like it," Majmun said with a grin, distracted from what Zvonomir had apparently hinted to him. "I'll get right on it."

I went to the apartment when we finished. It had been too long since I had seen Petter—only a few days, but it was still way too long. I wanted to see him before the submarine arrived and took my attention away again. I called him, but reached his voicemail. Damn it.

"Petter, call me. I really want to see you." I cleared my throat. "Fuck, I want you so much." I ended the call quickly before I blurted out anything else. Then I paced, and drank Scotch, and checked my phone a dozen times, but he didn't call.

"Where are you?" I muttered aloud. Perhaps he was busy with his own business deal, or maybe his son needed him. It didn't help me though. I needed him, and I didn't like not getting what I wanted. I went to the restaurant and slipped in through the kitchen, not wanting to walk in through the front and have to greet customers, not that there would be many in the early afternoon.

As I entered the passageway inside the rear door, I heard hushed voices: Zvonomir and my mother.

"It's been on the news," Zvonomir said. "Only about the raid on his house and the arrest so far, and that they have the gun."

"Good. If we have to tolerate this unnatural behaviour from Davor, at least that lowlife will be out of the picture. When I talked to his lawyer last night she said she would see him first thing this morning and, um, convince him."

My breath caught in my throat, and sweat broke out all over my body. They knew. Somehow, they found out I was seeing Petter and… he'd been arrested? They found the gun. So he hadn't got rid of it. Oh, shit.

Silently, I slipped back out of the building and returned to my car. My heart slammed against my ribs and my hands shook. If the cops had Petter's gun, he would be charged with murder. And what the hell had my mother meant about talking to Petter's lawyer and "convincing him?" Feeling sick, I connected to the Internet with my phone and looked for a recent news article. Immediately, I found a live report showing a picture of Petter.

"The president of motorcycle gang, the Mobsters, Petter Hill, was arrested yesterday after police discovered a gun suspected to have been used in the murders of detective Sven Birgersson, retired farmer Ake Loberg, and Sara Andersson, wife of previous Mobsters' president, Ulrik Andersson. Although the suspect initially refused to co-operate, the investigating team have now released the information that Hill has confessed to all three killings–"

"Fuck!" Horrified, I put my phone away. This was all my fault. The fact that he obviously hadn't got rid of the gun after I warned him wasn't his fault. His kid got hurt right after we talked about it, and he probably forgot. It was my fault entirely. He should never have been in that position. Why the hell had I thought it would be a good idea for Majmum to steal Petter's gun and set him up like that? I hadn't known I would fall for him, but even so. I felt sick with myself. They would lock Petter up and throw away the key. He'd have no defence with his prints all over the gun, especially now he'd confessed. Why the hell did he do that? Why would anyone confess to murders they didn't commit, knowing the result would be a life sentence? Had he been blackmailed? What had my mother meant when she told Zvonomir she spoke to Petter's lawyer? I wouldn't put it past Dubravka to pay the lawyer to ensure Petter could never see me again. He must have been "convinced" to confess, somehow.

I thought fast. What could I do? I called Christian.

"Hello," he answered. I could hear glasses clinking in the background.

"Come outside now. Meet me in my car."

"Oh, but—"

"Now, Christian."

"Right. Of course." In less than a minute, he appeared and got in the car. "What are we doing?"

"Did you know the cops arrested Petter Hill?"

"Yes, it was on the news."

"He's innocent."

"Well, I know that. You set him up."

I groaned, and started to drive. "Listen to me. You need to help me. When this is done, we have some things to talk about. I don't expect any favours, but I'm asking for one."

"What are you talking about?" Christian frowned. "Of course I'll help you. I work for you."

"Don't play games with me," I snapped. "I know who you are. I've always known. It was useful to me to keep you around. I can't talk about this now, we need to do something. But I will give you everything you want later. Everything. If you help me this one time."

He opened his mouth to argue, but then shut it again.

"Are you armed?" I asked.

"No."

"There are guns under the back seat. Get them."

Christian reached between the seats and found the two revolvers there. "Are you going to tell me what we're doing?"

"We're getting Petter out."

"You can't be serious. You know he's in a cell at the police headquarters. It would be impossible. You'll end up in jail with him."

"We're doing it. Whatever it takes," I said grimly.

"But why? Isn't this what you wanted? You and Majmun are off the hook for Sven and Sara and that farmer."

I didn't answer, and I could feel Christian staring at me. I glanced sideways and suddenly his eyes widened. "Oh," he said. "Oh!"

"What do you mean, 'oh'?"

"You're seeing Petter? Really?"

"Shut your fucking mouth!" I snapped. "Will you help me, or not?"

"Yes. Yes, of course I will. He doesn't deserve this."

"Good." I put my foot down as I turned the car in the direction of the police building. I was making it up as I went along. I had no plan. Christian was probably right and I would get arrested, but I had to do something to try to get Petter out.

"Why would he confess?" Christian said then.

"I don't know. Zvonomir found out about us. I don't know how, but I heard my mother tell him she talked to Petter's lawyer. She could have paid the woman, or blackmailed her to convince Petter to talk."

Fifteen minutes later, we were outside the police headquarters. Christian led the way around to a side entrance, close to where he said the cells were. The door was locked.

"How are we going to get in?" I fretted, wiping sweaty palms on my trousers so I didn't drop my gun.

Rolling his eyes, Christian tapped a series of digits into the keypad beside the door, and it clicked open.

"Of course," I muttered.

As soon as we entered the corridor, we heard what sounded like a party going on—people talking loudly, laughing and cheering, glasses clinking together.

"What the hell?" I whispered.

"—you all did fantastically!" a voice exclaimed. "You got the murderer, and he's confessed, so we can finally put Sven to rest."

"Fuckers," I hissed.

"Shut up, Davor. Come with me. While they're celebrating, they're not noticing us." Christian slipped away down the corridor and turned a corner. I followed, and once through another door, we were outside the cells.

Christian checked the tiny windows in the first two doors, then stopped outside the next. "It's this one. Shit!"

"What?" I hurried to his side and peered through the small opening.

Petter lay on the narrow bunk, dressed in police issue grey sweatpants and a tee shirt. His right arm rested across his chest, a small cut on the wrist leaking blood. But his left arm hung off the side of the bunk, and blood ran much too quickly from his wrist onto the floor where a large pool had already formed.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Davor and Christian break Petter out of his cell and take him to Monica, but can she save his life?

"Stay there," Christian said, and sprinted away from me.

I stood at the locked door, helpless and shocked. A razor blade rested in the pool of blood, and blood had sprayed across Petter's tee shirt and onto his face. He had killed himself. I was too late. He confessed to three murders I was responsible for, and took his own life. I wanted to die right there.

"Move!" Christian was back with a bunch of keys. He shoved me aside and unlocked the door, then dived into the cell. I followed, numb and shaking. Christian bent over Petter, checking him for what, I didn't know. I was in a daze. "Davor!" he growled at me. "Get a grip! Give me your tie."

"What?" I pulled my tie loose, confused.

"He's alive. But he won't be for much longer if we don't stop the bleeding. He's cut through the artery."

"How long before he—?" I passed him the tie.

"Minutes." Christian fastened the tie around Petter's wrist above the wound and yanked the knot tight, then lifted his arm up in the air. "Hold this. The wound needs to be above his heart."

I stepped forward and grasped Petter's arm, holding it up as Christian instructed.

"We're lucky. He's only just done it. He'd bleed out in ten to fifteen minutes maximum with a cut like that."

"Fuck," I muttered. I was barely functioning and I thanked God that Christian was with me. I would be useless alone. I'd probably throw myself on the bed with Petter and cry. I felt like my heart was being crushed. I had no experience of feeling like this, and it took my breath away.

"Help me get him up." Christian slid his arms under Petter and pulled him upright. Petter groaned and his head rolled. Instantly, I pulled myself together. He was alive. He needed me and if I didn't help him, I could still lose him.

We managed to support him between us and drag him out of the cell, legs trailing. He was conscious, but barely. Unbelievably, we made it out of the building without being caught, although we left smears of blood behind us along the floor, and it wouldn't be long before the cops were on our tail. We got Petter into the back seat of the car, and I climbed in too, resting his head in my lap. I lifted his arm again and held it up against my shoulder. Christian dived into the driver's seat and started the engine. He immediately turned the heating up to its highest setting. Taking the hint, I wriggled out of my jacket and wrapped it around Petter's upper body.

"Go to Petter's house," I told him. "Monica's a nurse. You know where that is, right?"

"Yeah." He began to drive.

"No," Petter muttered.

"Petter!" I touched his face with my free hand. If he could talk, it couldn't be that bad, right? He would be okay.

"I have to… die."

"No, you don't. This is all on me," I groaned. "Why would you do this? What about your kids?"

"They die if I don't."

"What do you mean? Petter!" I shook him gently, but he had lost consciousness. My heart plummeted again. "Oh, fuck, Christian, hurry up."

The car accelerated away from a junction and we headed for the suburbs. I pulled out my phone and found Monica's number. I had it from when she arranged our meeting with Rabia. Clearly, she had mine, too, when she answered.

"What the hell do you want? How could you do this to us, you bastard?" she yelled. "What did Petter ever do to you?!"

"Listen to me," I said as steadily as I could manage. "We got him out. We're bringing him to you."

"What are you talking about?"

"He's hurt. He hurt himself. You're going to have to stitch him up."

"What? What happened? Talk to me, damn it!" Her anger changed to anxiety.

I gulped. "We went to break him out. He cut his wrists. He's unconscious, but breathing."

"Oh, God. Let yourself in when you get here. I need to get some things ready. Second door on the right off the hall." She ended the call and I put my phone away.

"So, what are you going to give me?" Christian asked then. "A bullet in the head?"

"Of course not. I need your help right now, and I meant what I said. In brief, the boathouse is a set up. Majmun's wiring it with explosives. The plan is for your mother and her buddies to turn up there looking for the drugs, and get blown to pieces. The co-ordinates for the real landing spot are in my phone." I pulled it out again and sent him a text with the co-ordinates and a small map.

"How do I know what you've just told me isn't a set up?"

"You'll just have to trust me. The shipment is arriving at twenty-two hundred hours. The information on the boathouse we dropped for you was that it's coming in at oh-two-hundred the next morning. Majmun will be at the landing spot to meet the sub. When it's dealt with, he'll go to the boathouse to ensure no one gets out alive. The cops can check it out as soon as they like, then take Majmun after. I don't know, whatever they want to do."

"You're giving me information on the biggest deal you've ever arranged?"

"Yeah. There are video clips on my laptop, too, showing Majmun torturing Sven Birgersson, and shooting Sara Andersson. Majmun likes to film all these things—he's sick like that. The laptop is under my bed at the house. Get Blanka to help you. She's not involved in any of this, and I know she likes you. Don't argue, I know you have a thing for her, too."

"Well—"

"I don't know if there's enough evidence against Zvonomir, but take him down, too, if you can. I don't know how he and my mother found out I'm seeing Petter, but they've done this to him because of me."

"What about you? The cops want you more than the rest of them."

"Give me some time to get away. A day at least."

"You'll leave Stockholm?" Christian glanced at me in the rear view mirror.

"Yes. Once Petter's family are out of here and safe."

"What will you do? You obviously care about him."

"Yes, but that's not important right now. It just matters that he's safe. So?"

"Yes. All right. I'm helping, aren't I?" Christian turned the car into Petter's drive and parked in front of Monica's car. "You know this is the first place the cops will look when they find him missing."

"Yeah. So we need a plan to draw them off."

"Let me think about it." Christian was out of the car and pulling open the back door in a second. Between us, we dragged Petter out and half-carried him to the house. I opened the front door, and we staggered to the second room on the right down the hall, as Monica had told me. She appeared immediately, and the colour left her face when she saw Petter.

"Oh, my God."

"We stopped the bleeding as much as we could," Christian said. "He severed an artery. The other wrist is okay, it's barely a scratch."

"He tried to kill himself. Why?" Monica directed us to lay Petter on the bed, and quickly set up a saline drip. I stood beside him, still holding his arm up in the air.

"I think it's my fault," I said weakly.

"I know that. You're an arsehole," she snapped. "You set him up with that fucking gun."

"Yes, I did, and I'm sorry. I warned him to get rid of it just before Per was hurt. He must have forgotten."

Monica scowled, and turned her attention to Petter's left wrist. "Put his arm down."

I did so and hovered, trembling all over. "Can you sew him up?"

"Stitch an artery? Fucking Christ." She shook her head. "I know how, I just haven't done it. I'm a nurse, not a doctor. Get out of my way."

I moved to the foot of the bed as she searched through a tray of medical tools and came up with two microscopic clamps.

"I have an idea," Christian said. "We need a Mobster."

"What?" I frowned.

"To lead the cops away from here. I'll send my mother a message with some, um, information that will give us some time."

"I don't care what you do, but fucking fix this," Monica said through her teeth. "Take my phone out of my back pocket. Code is one-two-three-nine. All their numbers are in there."

Carefully, with finger and thumb, I slipped Monica's phone out of her pocket and tapped in the code. I found Adam in her contacts and called him.

"Tell him we need him to take Petter's truck and drive out of the city. Where doesn't matter. I'll give my mother the number plate and tell her Petter's men got him out of jail and they're running," Christian told me.

"Okay." I nodded, and spoke to Adam. He lived five minutes away, and agreed immediately to do as I said. He'd just seen the news and learned that Petter had confessed to murder. I put the phone down on the nearby table, then watched as Monica began the delicate operation of stitching Petter's wrist, with a surgical needle so tiny I could barely see it. How she managed to do it without falling apart, I had no idea. I was a wreck and I couldn't seem to get myself together. I felt useless, and afraid for the first time in as long as I could remember.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Monica saves Petter's life, and Davor and the Hill family get ready to leave the city

"It's done. He needs a transfusion, though." Monica straightened up after applying a thick dressing to Petter's wrist, and a small one to the other arm which had barely bled.

"I, um—" I was about to offer my own blood, when Monica produced a blood pack like the ones hospitals had.

"Jesus," Christian muttered.

"He's AB Negative. It's the rarest blood group. It's not like I can tap one of the gang if he ever gets hurt," she explained. "I took it from him a while back and stored it."

"I'm surprised the cops didn't take all this when they raided the house," I said.

"It's not illegal to have medical supplies." Monica rolled her eyes. "I keep scalpels and the blood in a chiller under the floor in the wardrobe normally. Because the blood would be weird, and they might see scalpels as weapons because of who we are."

"You're amazing," I said under my breath. "He said you were. How can you do all this without falling apart?"

"I'm a good actress." She hooked up the bag of blood and attached it to the cannula in Petter's arm. Then she turned around, pulled her arm back, and threw a punch. It connected so hard, I wondered if she'd broken my jaw. I groaned and cupped my face. "You fucking piece of shit! You're who he's been seeing, aren't you? Why else would you be here now, looking like someone you love died?"

"I—" I dropped my hand to my side and shrugged. "I do love him," I said in a small voice.

Christian glanced at me, then looked away.

"I warned him to get rid of the gun," I told Monica. "I told him everything. Majmun killed the cop and the farmer and Sara. But Majmun doesn't do anything without instruction. It was all me, and I am so fucking sorry. I can't take it back. I didn't expect Petter to forgive me for it, but he did. Will he live?"

"He'll live. If you were five minutes later getting to him, he wouldn't have. He's lost a lot of blood. I'd estimate at least three pints from his low blood pressure, and how cold he is. You don't usually lose consciousness until you've lost at least thirty percent of your blood. He could use another pint replacing, but I only have one to give him. He'll be weak for some time." Monica's voice cracked, and she slumped suddenly onto a nearby chair. "Thank God the kids aren't here."

"Where are they?" I asked.

"Ulrik's old house. His parents moved in to take care of their kids now both him and Sara are gone. Per and Oscar have been friends with them since they were babies." She looked up at me. "We're going to have to leave, aren't we?"

"Yes. For now, anyway."

She nodded and sighed. "He wanted to leave all this behind. He wasn't even sure he wanted to be president. He wavered for ages, until the boys pressed him into it. He just wanted a normal life for us, somewhere away from all this shit. The drugs, the wars, everything. We were saving up so we could walk away from it. A couple more deals and we would have had enough." Tears rolled down her face. "Why would he try to take his own life?"

"My mother and uncle found out about us." Not caring what she or Christian thought, I sat down on the edge of the bed and took Petter's hand in mine. He barely seemed alive. He was so pale and cold. "I'm not sure exactly, but I think my mother bribed Petter's lawyer so she would blackmail him into confessing. Before he passed out, he said if he didn't die, his family would. His name will be cleared as soon as the information I'm giving Christian comes out, but we don't have anything on my mother. She could still come after you. She's that evil, once she gets an idea in her head, she won't stop. You'll never be safe here."

"Then we need to leave the country," Monica said.

"I know. I can arrange some new IDs for you. Passports and bank—"

"I have those," she interrupted. "I thought something might happen one day where we would have to run. In our line of business, you never know. We have some money offshore. Not a huge amount, but enough."

"That's good." I nodded.

We were interrupted by a knock on the door. Monica answered and found Adam waiting outside. She gave him the keys to Petter's truck, and he took off a moment later. "We're going to need another vehicle," she said to me. "We can't use mine or yours. We have a van with fake plates. It's at the clubhouse."

"I'll get it. Drive me, Christian."

Monica gave me the van keys, and some more that unlocked the gates to the clubhouse yard, and we set off. I didn't want to leave Petter, but we needed to move quickly. The clubhouse was a five-minute drive away, and as soon as I had the van, I sent Christian to my apartment to collect clothes, including the leathers Petter bought for me, and my passports and other papers.

I let myself into the house when I got back and found that Monica had covered Petter in a heavy blanket and turned the heating up. The blood had been wiped from his face. "Help me change his clothes," she said. "He can't go anywhere covered in blood."

I pushed the blanket off, sat on the edge of the bed, and pulled Petter upright so he rested against my chest. Monica cut his tee shirt off him, then cleaned the blood off his chest and arms. He breathed steadily, soft puffs of air against my neck, but he felt so cold.

The drip had finished, so Monica unhooked it. She produced a fresh tee shirt and threaded the bag of blood through the sleeve before we put the garment on him, followed by a zip-up hoodie. We changed the blood-stained grey sweatpants for a black pair. Monica covered him up with the blanket again, and I put his motorcycle boots on his feet.

Christian returned a few minutes later with the items I'd asked him to get from the apartment. It hadn't occurred to me to be wary of trusting him, and it probably should have, but he at least wanted to help Petter and his family, regardless of what he might think of me. I told him to give my apartment keys and the safe code to Blanka, so she could use my cash and anything else she wanted. He shook my hand and left right afterwards, and I guessed it would be the last time I saw him.

"I need to get the kids. I'll be ten minutes, okay?" Monica said. "Then we can go. The transfusion will be finished by then."

I stayed with Petter, holding his hand and wishing there was something I could do. "Please wake up," I whispered. "You have to be okay."

He didn't move or stir, but just as Monica's car pulled up outside, his eyelashes fluttered. He licked his lips and finally opened his eyes. When they lit on me, they widened in shock.

"Oh, fuck," he groaned, as if he was remembering everything.

"It's okay. Everything's okay. Monica and the kids are safe. We're leaving Stockholm in a few minutes," I said quickly.

"Daddy!" Petter's children rushed into the room, then halted in shock when they saw the empty blood bag suspended above the bed. Monica hurried in.

"Per, Oscar, I told you not to run in here. Your dad's fine, he just cut himself a little, that's all."

"Why is he in bed?" Per asked.

"He's not been sleeping very well. He's tired. Come on, now, we're going on an adventure." She hustled them out of the room.

Petter squeezed his eyes shut and turned his face away.

"It's all right," I said again. "Don't worry about anything."

"Davor?" Monica appeared again. "Will you get one of the mattresses off the bunks in the next room? Put it in the back of the van for Petter. And take these bags." She indicated two large holdalls. "The kids are in the front seat. I'll drive the first part. Where are we going?"

"You need to decide what you want to do as a family," I said. "But we'll go to Oslo for now."

"Right."

I fetched a mattress, put it in the back of the van, and carried the bags out, including the huge one Christian had brought for me. Then Monica took the cannula out of Petter's arm, covered the tiny wound with a sticking plaster, and rolled up the blanket.

We put the fur-lined leather jacket on him, and somehow managed to get him on his feet. With his mostly uninjured arm around my neck, I supported his weight as we shuffled out of the house to the van. Once he was settled on the mattress with the blanket over him, I climbed in too and sat on my bag.

"You'll need this." Monica passed me a torch. Then she slammed the door closed and we were plunged into darkness.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Davor and the Hill family escape to Oslo. Monica becomes more friendly towards Davor and asks for his help, as Petter struggles in the aftermath of his attempted suicide.

I switched on the torch and rested it on one of the other bags, the beam directed away from Petter. Then I found a bottle of water and helped him to sit up. I moved around behind him so he could lean back against my chest. "Here. You'd better have some of this." I passed him the water, and he drank half of it. I checked the bag I had found it in for food and discovered a packet of Oreo cookies. "Must be for the kids," I muttered.

"What is it?" Petter asked me.

"Oreo cookies."

"They're for me."

"You like that shit?" I passed them to him, and he tore open the end of the packet.

"Yes, don't you?"

"No."

"More for me." He bit into one. I stayed silent while he ate four cookies and put the pack down.

"How are you feeling?" I asked then.

He rolled his head back against my shoulder. "How do you think I feel?"

"Do you want to talk about it?" I ventured.

"No."

I shifted around a little, so I was sitting more to the side of him and could see his face. He avoided my eyes. "Do you want to just rest? We'll be in here a while."

"Where are we going? You and Monica were talking about it, but I wasn't really listening."

"Oslo for the moment. It's about six hours. I'll take over the driving when we get halfway. Monica wanted to drive with the kids up front."

"Right." He didn't say anything more, but he stayed still, resting against me. I assumed he had fallen asleep, as he didn't move for the next couple of hours. My legs cramped up and the weight of him against me made my shoulder ache, but I didn't move a muscle. Then the van stopped, and a minute later, Monica opened the door. It was dusk, and I could see a line of headlights moving along the road a little distance away.

"I stopped for fuel," she said. "Do you need anything?"

"Yeah, um, bathroom," I said.

Petter lifted his head and blinked. "Where are we?"

"Middle of nowhere." Monica smiled. "You okay, babe?"

"Yeah. I can probably walk a bit if you help me."

"Right." We climbed slowly out of the van, and I gripped Petter's arm tightly to make sure he didn't fall down. He swayed and stumbled like he was drunk. We made it to the building and went to the bathroom, while Monica filled up the van with fuel. Then she woke the children, who had fallen asleep in the front seat, and took them to the bathroom. I helped Petter up into the front of the van and got behind the wheel. When the others returned, Monica put the kids in the back, passed some more of the water and cookies to Petter, and climbed into the back herself.

I turned the van onto the road and switched on the radio to find some news. There was a report that Petter had escaped from his cell, assisted by me and another "as yet unknown" man. The police obviously fed that line to the press to cover up the fact that their own infiltrator was involved. There would have been CCTV. Police were tracking a vehicle presumed to have been used in the getaway.

"They haven't caught up to Adam yet," I said.

"He was a getaway driver in a previous life." Petter gave me a wry smile and turned away to look out of the window. He didn't say anything more and not long after, I could see he had fallen asleep again.

I didn't stop until I found a hotel in Oslo, more than four hours later. Monica had my number, and I knew she'd call me if she needed me to stop sooner. The hotel I found was similar to the one I'd stayed in with Petter in Uppsala—huge and impersonal. It was unlikely they'd notice us.

Monica checked us all in with fake passports, while Petter and I waited out of sight of the concierge in case they'd seen our faces on the news. Fifteen minutes later, we were all in a large suite. Two connected bedrooms were attached to a bathroom, with a third room on the other side of the bathroom. I took this room and let Petter and his family have the two connected rooms, much as I didn't want to leave him. His kids needed to see him, and they had to decide together on what they wanted to do, and where they would go. I was just along for the ride for the time being if I was wanted.

I took a shower, changed into a clean shirt and trousers, and sat on the bed watching the news. Adam had now been apprehended and was confused as to why he'd been pulled over. He was using his boss's truck to collect motorcycle parts, which the police found a large collection of in the rear of the truck. Adam was able to produce receipts for them too, and they had to let him go. Both Petter and I were pictured, and the public were asked to report our whereabouts if we were spotted, but that no one should approach us. Hopefully only Swedish news was reporting on it so far.

A little later I received a text message from Christian, telling me he had got the information from my computer with the help of Blanka. Majmun would be going away for a very long time.

Eventually, I slept a little. It was maybe five in the morning when I heard a light tap on the bathroom door from the inside. I opened it to find Monica there, tense and anxious.

"What's wrong?" Instantly I was wide awake. "Is Petter okay?"

"No, he's not." She sighed. "Physically, yes. Or he will be soon enough. Mentally, he's a mess. He's been up most of the night. He slept a little, had some kind of nightmare, and sort of panicked. The kids are worried to death because he doesn't want to see them. I don't know what to do. Stupid, huh? I've been with him seventeen years, and I don't know what to do. He won't talk." She paused and cleared her throat. "You love him, right? You said—"

"Yes, I do," I said firmly. "You don't mind?"

"Of course I don't mind. He's gay. I always hoped he would find someone; I just didn't expect it to be a Mimica. I love him, too, but I've never been in love with him. He's not my type at all."

I laughed a little, surprised she was talking to me like this, and sounding friendly with it.

"You must wonder how we managed to have kids together," she added with a smile. "I suppose we both just closed our eyes and imagined Mr Tall Dark and Handsome."

I laughed more. "Tall dark and handsome?"

"Yes, we like the same type of guys. But anyway. He's not doing too good right now."

"Shall I try talking to him?"

"Be my guest." She led me through the other bathroom door and disappeared into the second bedroom where presumably Per and Oscar were. She closed the door behind her, leaving me with Petter. He was lying on the bed on his side, in the tee shirt, sweatpants, and hoodie we had put on him.

I sat down and touched his arm. "Hey. You okay?"

"Fine."

"No, you're not. Monica's worried about you. So are your kids."

"Leave me alone."

I wasn't any good at this sort of thing. I'd had no practise. One time Markus had been upset about something and asked me to leave him alone, so I left him and didn't talk to him for a week. He admitted later he'd wanted me to just be with him, offer comfort, and encourage him to talk about it. Would that be the same for Petter? Should I try to get him to him talk? Or just sit in silence with him.

I stroked his back. "Tell me what happened. Why did you do this?" I asked softly.

He sat up suddenly and swung his legs off the side of the bed half turning away from me. I waited for him to tell me to fuck off, but he stayed silent, eyes down, breathing heavily. Eventually, he spoke.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Petter talks about what happened to him in the police cells, and decides with Davor where to go after Oslo

"My lawyer came to see me right after I was arrested. The cops wanted to interview me, but they had to wait for her to show up. I refused to talk to both her and them. She left and they kept trying. Different ones each time. One of them said she knew I was innocent and that she suspected your family was responsible for the murders." He shrugged one shoulder. "The others said they had forensic evidence and the murder weapon. You warned me to get rid of it and I forgot. I was going to, and then Per broke his arm, and I was at the hospital. It slipped my mind."

"I wondered if that was why."

"Yeah. You must have thought I was a fucking dick."

"No, I didn't think that. It was my fault. All of this is my fault." I slid my hand into his, but he pulled away and folded his arms.

"The lawyer came back to see me early this morning. Yesterday morning. She brought photos of Monica and my kids out at the park, playing and picnicking. She told me it was time to start talking. It was a threat. I don't know who got to her." He sighed heavily. "She went over everything with me—details of where and how Sven and that other guy and Sara died, and the name of the farmer. I had to repeat it a few times. Then she pointed out one photo and told me to keep it. Ten minutes later I was back in the interview room and I had to recite the details to the cops. She was there too, and she prompted me a few times with some of it, when they asked me things I didn't know how to answer."

My chest tightened and I ground my teeth. I clenched my fists on my thighs and waited for him to continue.

"When they put me back in the cell, I looked at the photo. It had a backing on it, stuck down. The razor blade was hidden inside." He started to shake. "I had no choice. The message was clear. It was me, or them. I had to confess, and end it before I could be cross-examined, or before any other evidence came out."

"Oh, Petter," I groaned. In that moment, I hated my mother and Zvonomir, and I hoped to God they would get what they deserved.

"All I could think about, was Per and Oscar growing up without a dad, and Monica wondering why I would do that to myself. I would never—" He choked and took a shaky breath. I could barely make out the last few rough, strangled words. "I never would have tried to kill myself if I thought I had a choice." He put a hand over his face and sobbed.

I had no idea what to do. I had never been faced with this—someone I loved in this much pain. I wrapped my arms around him and hugged him against me. The other side of the door, I hear the TV start up loudly with a children's programme and guessed Monica had done it so the kids wouldn't hear their dad cry.

"It's okay," I said. "They're safe. You're all safe. It's going to be okay."

He coughed and scrubbed impatiently at the tears on his face. Then he leaned against me with a sigh. "Do you know why? Who set this up?"

"My mother and Zvonomir," I told him. "I heard them talking. Somehow, they found out about us. I heard her say if they had to tolerate my unnatural behaviour at least you would be out of the picture. I'm so sorry, Petter."

"You didn't do it."

"I may as well have. We—no, I—had the murders lead to you. That's what started this. I'll never forgive myself."

Petter pulled away from me and met my eyes. "You have to stop thinking about that. It's done. So what now?"

"There's a lot to say, and I'll tell you as much detail as you want later. For now, Christian is working for the cops. He's an infiltrator. I knew from the beginning and I let him find out what I wanted him to know. He helped me get you out, in exchange for me giving him everything I have on Majmun and the Family. So, now I have to leave, too, and where I go depends on you."

"What do you want to do?"

"I want to be with you. Wherever you choose to go. If you don't want me, I'll go back to Croatia for a while."

"You told Monica you love me," he said slowly.

"Oh, you heard that, huh?"

"Yes, I heard everything you both said when she came to get you just now." His lips twitched a little, but he didn't really smile.

"Well, it was the truth. I never felt like this before, but I love you, and I will do anything for you. Anything. Even if that's to walk away and never come back."

"I've always wanted to go to America. Florida. The kids would love being able to go to Disney World and Sea World and all that stuff. There are a lot of bikers there."

"You could set up the business you talked about," I added. "A bike shop."

"Yeah. Monica can work anywhere. They always want nurses. What about you?"

"I'm sure the people of Florida need to eat." I smiled. "Maybe I could open a pizzeria, or something else. Whatever will work."

"So, is that what we're doing?" He still looked unsure.

"One hundred percent. There is nothing here I want anymore. I'll miss Blanka, but I think Christian will take care of her. They like each other, and she was never involved in any of the stuff we did."

Finally, he smiled a little. "How long do we have?"

"I don't think they're too concerned in chasing us right now. Christian's giving them all the information on a huge Russian import deal I set up. Blanka helped him get files off my computer on some of the shit Majmun did, including a video of him torturing Sven Birgersson. Christian will make sure they know you didn't have anything to do with any of it. They'll still want me for my part in everything, and they have me on the CCTV getting you out of the cell, but by the time they've intercepted the shipment and dealt with the fake landing spot that Majmun wired with explosives, we'll be long gone."

"Shit, you do have a lot to tell me. Just one question."

"What's that?"

"Who hit you? You have a huge bruise on your face."

"Oh, God." I laughed "That was Monica. When Christian and I turned up at your house with you, she fixed you up first, then almost broke my jaw. I don't blame her one bit."

Petter let out a small chuckle. "That's my Mon."

The door opened and Monica slipped in. She closed it behind her, leaving the kids watching TV. "Are you two okay?"

"Yeah." Petter nodded. "Thanks."

"I'm sorry," I said again.

"I think you redeemed yourself," she told me. "Shall I order room service? I don't think being seen in the dining room would be a good idea, and you need to eat, Petter."

"Yes, definitely. Go for it." I gestured to the hotel phone and she went to order food.

"We need to ditch the van and use a taxi to take us to the airport," I said. "We also need to book flights."

Monica finished her breakfast order and sat on the edge of the bed the other side of Petter. "Did you decide where we're going?"

"I thought Florida." He glanced at her. "What do you think?"

"The kids will love it."

"That's what I thought."

"What about you?" Monica peered around him at me. "Are you going with us?"

"Yes."

"Okay. We should be able to rent somewhere when we arrive, until we decide what we're going to do about living arrangements."

Petter glanced at her. "What are you talking about?"

"Don't play dumb, Petter. I thought this would happen one day. We were always going to meet someone, it's just that you got there first and I haven't been looking. One day I will. We can't all live together. You two will want some privacy and the kids can't be around when you're, you know." She snorted. "Besides, I want some space to find my own Mr Tall Dark and Handsome. There's no hurry. Just think about it, though." She got up again, bent to kiss Petter on the forehead, then returned to the other room.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Petter's name is cleared, but he and his family are still in danger from Dubravka. Davor books flights to America for all of them.

"I didn't think about that part," Petter said slowly.

"Which part?"

"What would happen when one of us met someone. It's been so long, that it seemed as if we would go on this way forever."

"Are you okay with that? Not living with them anymore?" I asked him.

"Yeah, I guess. I mean, it's not as if it's a real break-up where I end up being a weekend dad. I'll see them every day, or most days." He sighed heavily. "I just didn't expect to be faced with this so fast. I didn't know what would happen with us—you and me, I mean. I didn't look as far ahead as us planning some sort of future."

"Nor did I. We wouldn't have had to yet, if things hadn't gone the way they have."

"When we find where we're going to live, I'll buy a house for Monica and the kids. I want to make sure they'll always be okay," Petter said.

I nodded. My heart began to pound. I wondered what would happen with us. Would he want to live with me? We'd had one date. Only one. He'd spent the night with me a handful of times. We barely knew each other, but I knew I loved him. I knew I would move in with him in a heartbeat. But if we rushed it, would we really have a chance? I'd never lived with anyone, and it could be a disaster.

"Shit," Petter muttered, and rubbed a hand over his face. "How did this all get so serious? Okay, look. We had one date, and I don't know that I'm ready to—"

"Hey." I grasped his hand in both of mine, relieved he felt the same. "There's no rush here. We shouldn't just move in together and hope for the best. We both need to get set up in business first. And we need to get to know each other properly. Let's do that before we think about anything else."

Petter relaxed and smiled. "I'm not used to any of this."

"Me neither. So we'll figure it out as we go along. Go on some more dates and get to know each other."

"Just so you know, I, um—" Colour crept into his face. "I feel the same way you do."

I grinned. "That's good to know."

A few minutes later, the door opened and Monica came in. "It won't be long until room service arrives. Davor, you should meet the kids properly. They keep asking who you are."

"What do you want to tell them?" Petter asked.

"The truth. They've always known we're not a normal mum and dad couple. Maybe Oscar's a bit young to completely understand, but Per will get it."

"Okay." Petter nodded and pulled his hand free of mine.

Suddenly, I was terrified. Coming along for the ride and being some distant figure that the kids' parents knew was easy enough. But being introduced to them as their dad's—what? Boyfriend? What if they hated me?

"Don't look like that, Davor. They'll be fine," Monica said. She opened the door again and called out. "Per! Come through here and bring Oscar."

Petter and I glanced at each other. The children walked into the room, Per proudly holding his plastered arm across his chest.

"I told you about, um—" Suddenly, Monica faltered, and I realised we hadn't discussed what I would be known as. I could be Davor again when we got to Florida, if I wanted to.

"Alex," I supplied.

"Alex," Monica finished. "He's your dad's partner."

Per walked right up to me and held his hand out for me to shake. "Hi, Alex. Are you Dad's boyfriend?"

"Um—" I shook his hand and glanced at Monica over his shoulder, worried about saying the wrong thing. Monica nodded. "I am, yes. Is that okay?"

"Are you nice to him?" the boy asked.

"I think so."

"Okay. It's nice to meet you. This is my brother, Oscar." He beckoned the smaller boy forward, and he approached, head down, shy and reluctant. "My best friend, Lena, has two mums," Per added.

Immediately, I relaxed a little. Per didn't care or think it weird that I was with his dad.

"If Mum gets a boyfriend, too, we'll have three dads and a mum," he added with a cheeky grin that made him look even more like Petter. "We'll get extra spoiled. Will you write on my cast?"

"Sure." I smiled, and took the pen Monica held out to me. The cast was partly covered in colourful drawings including a couple of motorcycles, a dog, and the Mobsters logo that Petter had tattooed on his neck.

"Dad's friends drew them," Per explained.

I wrote in one of the gaps and handed the pen back. Then Monica drew the children away and sat down with them. She began explaining to them that we were going to America and that from now on, they must speak in English. They both shrieked with excitement at the prospect of going to Disney World.

"We should switch to English, too," I muttered. I'd been taught it, of course, from childhood, but having moved to Sweden as a kid and having to master Swedish instead, I was rusty.

"Yeah," Petter said in English. "I need to get hold of an unregistered phone. We can't go back. I want to tell Adam he can take my bikes."

"I have a couple in my bag." I led him back to my room and opened the large holdall.

Petter glanced inside and smiled. "You brought the leathers?"

"Of course. You bought them for me. Once we get settled in Florida and you get another bike, I'll be needing them." I located one of the cheap phones I had and passed it to him.

Petter called Adam, his second in command, and explained he and his family wouldn't be returning. I could hear Adam's loud voice at the other end of the phone, protesting that Petter's name had been cleared—it was on the news—so there was no reason why he couldn't go home.

"There's more to this," Petter said, and explained his family was in danger. He told Adam where the spare keys to the house were, and where to find the cash he had. Lastly, he told the other man to take his bikes and either keep them or pass them onto any of the other Mobsters who wanted them. When he ended the call, he looked exhausted and miserable. I was used to leaving everything behind but I could see it hurt for him to walk away from everything he and Monica had, without having the chance to take more of their belongings with them.

I took the SIM card out of the phone and broke it in half, then put a new one in and called Christian.

"Hello?" he answered after a minute.

"It's me," I said in English. "What's happening?"

"Blanka is okay," he told me first. "She's staying in your apartment. Majmun's been arrested for the three murders Petter was charged with. Zvnomir's dead—"

"What? How?" Zvonomir was our biggest threat, after Dubravka.

"My mother's colleague, Bjorn, killed him. They set him up to get him out in the open—unofficially."

"Thank God. What about Dubravka?"

"The cops haven't got anything on her. She seems to be carrying on with the restaurant. Pawel and Jovan are still there. Petter's name has been cleared. The fact that he apparently tried to kill himself wiped out the fact that he escaped jail. The cameras showed him being dragged out of there virtually unconscious by you and me, so it's you they want, not him. He could stay."

"No. My mother hates that I'm gay, and even more that I'm with Petter. He and his family would still be in danger. Do you know what happened with his lawyer?"

"Yes, my mother interviewed her. Dubravka paid her to blackmail Petter. She's terrified of your family but she cracked immediately when she found herself on the wrong side of an interview desk."

"Bitch," I muttered. "She'd get more than a slap on the wrist if I got my hands on her." I took a breath and focussed on what was important right now. "You'll look after my sister, won't you?"

"Of course I will. I love her," Christian said. "I always did but I kept my distance because of Stefan."

"That little weasel," I scoffed.

"You can't come back," he went on. "You're on that video of Majmun torturing Sven. As well as breaking Petter out of jail."

"I know that. I won't be coming back. Don't ask where."

"I wouldn't."

"Just tell Blanka I'll check in with her sometime. I'll find a way to do it," I said.

"Will do. Good luck. Oh, wait. Um, I have Petter's jewellery."

"What?"

"A bracelet and several rings. My mother got them from the station. I said I'd take them, you know, just in case."

I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Look, I'm calling from an unregistered phone. Get Blanka to call me on this number in one hour. Tell her to use the phone in my safe. It's another unregistered number."

"All right," Christian agreed. The line went dead and I put the phone in my pocket.

"Okay. We'd better look for some flights." I had an iPad with me, again set up with a fake name, address, and email. I switched it on and looked for flights from Oslo to New York. Flying directly to our actual destination probably wouldn't be smart, even with fake passports. "What names are your passports in?"

"I'll get them." Petter returned a few minutes later with four passports. His own was in the name of Magnus Ericksson. Monica and the kids' had the surname Jonsson. "I guess we're divorced," he said with a sigh.

"It's only until we get there. You can go back to your own names then."

"I suppose. What about you? You said Alex?"

"Alexej Markovic."

"Croatian?"

"Yes. Most of my passports are. When I speak English my accent is eastern European, not Swedish, so it makes more sense. Are you okay?"

"Better. Just tired."

I found suitable flights, although there were none available until the next day, meaning we would have to spend another twenty-four hours in the hotel. I arranged accommodation in a hotel in New York for one night, then onward flights to Miami.

"I should be paying for some of this," Petter said.

"Don't worry about it. It's only about forty thousand krona."

"Right."

The room service arrived then and we joined the rest of the family to eat. Monica had apparently ordered everything on the menu. She and the children all tried bits of each thing. I had bacon, eggs, toast, and coffee. Monica gave Petter a huge plateful of food, and he picked at it unenthusiastically but finished it. Then he went back to the other room. When I followed him, I found him asleep.

I watched him for a few minutes, hoping he would be okay. Monica had explained that physically he would feel weak and tired for a while until the blood he'd lost regenerated. But he seemed depressed, too. He was leaving more behind than me—a family home and years of memories with his kids; all of his possessions and beloved bikes. Me—I'd never collected anything that meant something to me. My apartment was just a bolt hole and a place to have sex.

I bent over Petter and brushed a light kiss across his cheek. Then I sat down and watched the TV turned down low and waited for him to wake up.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Davor talks to Blanka, and Petter starts to feel better

My phone rang exactly an hour later and I answered quickly. "Blanka?"

"Hey."

"Are you alone?"

"Yes. Are you okay?"

"Yes. You?"

"I'm fine. Why did you never tell me about you?" she asked. "I'd have been on your side."

"And you'd have taken the heat for it as well if Dubravka found out you knew."

"I wouldn't have cared. So, you and Petter."

"Yeah." I grinned. "Who'd have thought it?"

"Are you happy?"

"Yes, I am. He's—" I paused. "He's what I've been looking for, for a long time. What about you?"

"Yes." I could hear her smiling. "Christian and I are together."

"That's good." I glanced at Petter, who was tossing and turning in his sleep. "Christian said he has some jewellery."

"I have it now. It's in your safe. Is there a way I can get it to you?"

I thought for a minute. "I've been trying to figure that out. I'll try to find a way to set up a post office box somewhere and let you know the address. I'll send a message to that phone when I've done it. You won't be able to call me again after this."

"I know." Blanka sighed. "Take care. Contact me when you can. If you can't call, maybe you can send a note to your old apartment or something? I don't know. I know you can't tell me where you are, but maybe one day I can come and find you."

"I hope so. Take care of yourself." I ended the call, removed the SIM card and broke it in half, then went back to watching Petter sleep. He continued to thrash around, groaning and muttering, and sweated so much his tee shirt grew wet. I was about to wake him when he jerked upright and opened his eyes.

"Fuck!" He scrubbed a hand over his wet face, shivering.

"Bad dream?" I moved closer and touched his shoulder. He was so wet his hoodie felt damp, too.

"Yeah, another. Every time I fall asleep I'm back in that cell with a razor blade in my hand."

"It'll get better. You need some time."

"I need a shower." He shook himself. "I stink. I can't remember when I last had one. It must have been before I was arrested."

"Monica should check your stitches first. You might need a waterproof cover on that." I indicated his left wrist, and went to fetch her.

Monica removed the dressings and checked both wrists. The right one only needed a waterproof sticking plaster. The left was starting to dry up and there was no swelling, but it had to be covered. She replaced the dressing with a fresh one and put a waterproof cover on top of it.

"You want any help?" I offered, when she'd gone back to the other rooms.

"No." Petter went into the bathroom, and closed and locked the door. I heard the other door open and close, then that one was locked, too. I returned to the TV as water began running in the bathroom.

He stayed in there a long time, even after the shower stopped. I hated not being able to do anything to help—not with the showering, but with his mental state. I couldn't make the bad dreams go away, or make him feel better about leaving everything behind. Once again I reminded myself that all of his suffering was my fault, and I felt like shit over it.

Eventually, the bathroom door opened and he came out wearing a clean tee shirt and jeans. The scruff on his face was gone, leaving only the moustache and goatee which he'd trimmed. He looked tired but better. He sat beside me, as close as he could get without actually being on my lap. "I'm sorry I'm such terrible company."

"You could never be that."

"Well, I feeling fucking stupid. I've never been in this position."

"How do you mean?"

"Um, needing somebody." He hung his head.

"Hey." I slid my arm around him. "It doesn't matter. Things will get better." I cupped his face in my other hand and made him look at me. "I'm not going anywhere. Don't think it's one-sided, though. I need you, too."

I hesitated a moment, wondering if I should kiss him or not. I wanted to, but maybe he didn't. I wasn't good at reading people unless I was threatening them. I closed the small gap between our lips. He sighed and clutched at me. It seemed much too long since we had kissed. I caressed his lips with mine, and suddenly he thrust his tongue into my mouth, rough and forceful. I let him take control, and closed my eyes with a groan of pleasure. My heart pounded and my blood headed to my groin.

Petter pushed me down onto the bed, still kissing me, and began unbuttoning my shirt one-handed. He slid his hand inside and stroked my chest, then down to my stomach. His lips left mine and I opened my eyes to meet his. I slipped my hand under his tee shirt, but he grabbed my wrist and pulled my hand off him, then resumed touching me. I lay there, breathless and aroused, as he unfastened my trousers and freed my erection from my underwear. When I glanced down at his crotch, it didn't look like he was hard.

"Petter," I gasped. "You don't have to—"

He silenced me with another kiss, and began jerking me off with long slow strokes. I closed my eyes again and gave myself up to it. I was desperate to come, and despite the anxiety and stress of the last couple of days, it was easy to forget it all temporarily and enjoy the feel of his hand. I didn't last long, and when he sat up and wiped his hand on the bed, he was grinning.

"Didn't expect that?"

"Not yet." I tucked myself away and sat up.

"Well, there's not much happening with me right now. I must have lost too much blood." He snorted. "Doesn't mean you should have to wait. You'll just owe me double when I have my energy back."

"I'll remember that." I kissed his cheek, surprised by his selflessness when he was still suffering so much. Would I have done the same for him if our positions were reversed? Yes, probably. "I love you."

"Love you, too," he grunted, not looking at me.

I grinned. Neither of us had ever said it before, and he seemed to find it more awkward to get those words out than I did. It was the first time he'd said more than "I feel the same way."

We ordered room service twice more that day—sandwiches and cakes for lunch, and a variety of things with fries in the evening. Petter ate, but it seemed as if every mouthful was a chore. That night he stayed with me and I slept undisturbed until the morning. He was still sleeping, pressed against me, when I opened my eyes.

"Hey." I kissed his nose. "Petter."

Slowly, his eyes opened and he smiled. "I slept well. No dreams." He pulled away from me and stretched. "Feel better, too."

"Good." I glanced at my watch. "We have two hours before we have to go to the airport."

"Okay. Better have some more food." He picked up the phone.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Davor and the Hill family make it to New York and stay in a hotel while waiting for the next flight to their final destination

I tried not to betray my fear as we entered the airport. We'd agreed for Monica and the kids to check in together, then Petter separately, and me last. I'd flown plenty of times but I'd never been quite so worried about being apprehended. I hadn't seen myself on the Norwegian news but my phone showed news reports in Stockholm with my picture on them, saying I was wanted for breaking Petter out of jail and in connection with Sven Birgersson's kidnap and torture.

In the past, I'd been careless and blasé about what might happen to me but now, I had so much to lose. I had Petter and a new life waiting for me and it could be snatched away from me in a second if the officials in Oslo happened to be looking for me.

I watched Monica and the kids disappear through security and a few minutes later Petter followed. None of them were held up and everything seemed to go smoothly. The line I was in moved slowly but eventually I reached the check-in desk and offered my passport. I checked the holdall in and waited, hoping I didn't look as sweaty and anxious as I felt, while my passport was scanned and boarding card produced.

"Here you go, sir. Have a nice flight." The young staff member passed me my documents and indicated I should walk on through security. Almost there.

I could see Petter up ahead, walking through the scanning gate. He wasn't as far ahead of me as I'd thought. The scanner didn't beep, and he collected his boots and jacket from the conveyor belt. Then he stooped to put his boots on. I slipped off my suit jacket and unfastened my shoes, then checked my trouser pockets and removed my phone and a few coins. I put them in a tray on the conveyor belt and waited until I was beckoned through the scanner. It beeped immediately and I froze as a security guard approached, looking me up and down.

"Go back through and take your belt off," he said.

"Oh, of course. Sorry," I muttered, and did as I was told. This time, no beep. The man didn't look at me again and I collected my belongings quickly. My hands shook as I tied my shoelaces, then walked as casually as I could manage through to the departure lounge where I spotted Petter waiting for me. I hurried to him. "I thought they had me there for a second."

He grinned. "I never thought I'd see Da—um, Alex shit himself."

"Fuck off." I punched him lightly in the arm. "Where are the others?"

"In Duty Free. Want to check it out?"

"Not really. I could use a drink." I indicated a bar. "Do you want a beer?"

"All right."

I drank two large Scotches while Petter sipped a small beer. The time crawled by. Every time I looked at my watch, only five or ten minutes had passed. I longed to slide my hand into Petter's and hold onto him but even though I spotted two young guys holding hands as they walked by, I couldn't bring myself to do it. I'd spent my whole life hiding who I was and so had Petter. I was too unsure of myself to out us both in front of dozens of people, even though none of them knew us.

Eventually, our flight was called. Monica and the kids stayed away from us and boarded the plane before us. Just in case I was caught I didn't want them anywhere near me, although I wasn't able to tell Petter to keep his distance. I hadn't been lying to make him feel better when I'd said I needed him.

We boarded the plane a few minutes later. We weren't sitting together and he was two rows in front of me. I sat down reluctantly in the aisle seat and strapped myself in. The window seat beside me remained empty, much to my relief. The plane doors were closed and as we taxied onto the tarmac, I realised Petter could sit with me after all as soon as we were in the air and the seatbelt signs went off.

I was used to flying. I didn't know if Petter and Monica were as we hadn't talked about it. I drummed my fingers impatiently as the cabin crew went through the safety instructions. Then we were informed that Duty Free could be purchased on the plane and that a meal would be provided later. We had to wait while two planes ahead of us took off but finally we were on our way. The plane lifted into the air and gained height quickly. I leaned over and looked out of the window as Oslo shrank below us, and the plane banked to start on its course for New York.

When the seatbelt signs went off, people began to move about in their seats, some getting up to retrieve bags from above and others heading for the toilets. I got up and made my way forwards to Petter's seat. He was sitting on the aisle too.

"Hey." I squeezed his shoulder. "There's a spare seat next to mine. Come and sit with me." He got up immediately and joined me in the window seat.

"I expect you've done this a lot," he said.

"Yeah."

"I've never been on a plane. Nor has Monica. I'm sure the kids think this is a great adventure." He smiled thinly and stared at his lap.

"Are you nervous?"

He shrugged. "I can think of things I'd rather be doing."

"We could watch a movie?" I suggested.

"All right." He copied me as I tapped at the screen in the back of the seat in front of me and scrolled through the options. He found a thriller he liked the look of and although it wasn't my usual style, I chose to watch it with him. We plugged in the earphones and hit "Play." Petter took off his jacket after a minute and rolled it up.

"Give that to me."

"Huh?" He passed me the jacket, eyebrows raised.

I unrolled it and draped it over the armrest between us, then slid my hand underneath and found his. He grinned and threaded his fingers through mine.

We watched two movies before the meal came around, then Petter watched a programme about renovating a classic car and I listened to some music. We held hands the entire time, other than when we were eating or one or other of us went to the toilet. We landed in New York on time and disembarked, both of us with relief for different reasons.

Petter spotted Monica and the kids in Baggage Claim and went to join them. My bag was the first off the belt, so I grabbed it and collected a trolley to put all the bags on. Half an hour later we piled into a taxi. I'd checked out some hotels on my iPad while we waited for the last bag and I asked the driver to take us to one of them. We checked into a family room for Monica and the kids, and a double for Petter and me. It was late in the evening and Petter and I took quick showers before falling into bed. I checked the news again before I let myself go to sleep, and discovered that Stockholm police believed I could have left the country but they didn't have any leads and suspected I may have returned to Croatia. I heaved a sigh of relief. It seemed I was in the clear.

In the morning I rose early and left Petter sleeping. I had an errand to do and I didn't want him with me for that. I headed out and found a post office where boxes could be rented. I secured one for a month, then bought a cheap phone and called Blanka. The phone rang for almost a minute before she picked up, sounding breathless. I didn't ask.

"It's me," I said.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes, all of us are fine. Write down this address." I gave her the address of the post office box.

"Is that where you're staying?" she asked me.

"No. We have another flight later today. But you can send the jewellery here."

"I'll do it today," she promised.

I called into a bakery before I returned to the hotel. The rooms we'd booked didn't include breakfast, although there was a buffet available if we wanted it. Instead, I collected a bag full of bagels with assorted fillings, three coffees, and two hot chocolates for the kids. Petter was up and dressed when I let myself back into the room.

"Where were you?" he demanded.

"I just went to get breakfast. I thought this would be better than more hotel food."

"Oh. Sorry, I thought—" He sighed and shrugged. "I don't know what I thought. My head's still fucked up."

"That's not unexpected. Here." I passed him a coffee. "I brought hot chocolate for Per and Oscar. There's coffee for Monica, too, and bagels for everyone."

Petter grinned. "You're going to be a hit. Let's go next door." He took his coffee and led the way to Monica's room. Per let us in.

"Mum's in the shower," he said clearly in English with barely an accent. "Did you bring breakfast?"

"Anyone like hot chocolate?" I offered him one of the paper cups.

"Yeah!"

Oscar rushed over immediately to get the second cup.

"Boys, come on. Say thanks to Alex." Petter frowned at them.

"Sorry, Dad. Thank you, Alex." Per smiled up at me.

"You're welcome."

"Thank you, Alex," Oscar repeated.

"Is there food too?" Per asked with a grin. "Please?"

"Sure." I handed him the bag. "Help yourselves. There are bagels with different fillings. Cheese and tomato—"

Per wrinkled his nose.

"Cream cheese and smoked salmon—"

"Yuk!"

"Peanut butter?"

"Cool!"

Petter laughed and shook his head. "Yeah, they're going to love you."

"So long as you do, I'm happy," I whispered.

He grinned and helped himself to a cheese and tomato bagel. We were going to be okay, I thought. We would make it.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Davor/Alex gets to know Monica on the flight to Miami, and proves popular with Petter and Monica's children

"I want Daddy!" Oscar wailed.

We were at the airport, waiting in the line at the check-in desk for the flight to Miami. Monica and the boys stood a little way ahead of Petter and me, and Oscar had apparently had enough of his mother's company. Monica and Per tried to hush him but he refused to calm down. Monica pulled them out of the line and walked back to join us.

"I'm sorry, Alex," she said. "Petter, let them sit with you, okay?"

"Sure."

Oscar stuck his arms up in the air, asking to be picked up. Petter groaned. "I can't right now, buddy, my arm's sore. Here." He grasped the little boy's hand instead. "You can sit with me and we'll watch a movie, all right? Quiet, now."

Oscar immediately stopped crying and sucked his thumb. "I'm sorry," Monica said to me again.

"Don't be. They come first with Petter. I know that and I'm cool with it. Do you want to sit with me?"

"Okay. I promise not to give you the third degree." She smiled at me as Petter and the boys moved up to the check-in desk and were allocated a row of three seats. There were no pairs within a couple of rows of them, so Monica and I took a window and an aisle pair a few rows ahead. We didn't talk much until the plane was in the air. Then I asked her how she met Petter and we talked for most of the flight.

"I was friends with the younger sister of one of the other Mobsters. She didn't have anything to do with the gang and nor did Petter then. He'd just moved to Stockholm and was looking for work. He was hanging around outside one of the biker bars they all went to and met Jan. Jan was my friend's brother. He worked in a bike shop and got Petter a job. A while later he introduced him as a prospect."

"What was he like then?"

"Shy and cute." Monica laughed. "I guessed right away that he was gay. He got some shit over it where he came from and he was worried about what the Mobsters would say if they knew. I wanted a male friend to hang out with who wouldn't keep trying to get into my pants." She frowned. "Did he tell you what happened to me?"

"No. He said you had a bad experience, that's all."

"My uncle molested me when I was a young teenager. He didn't rape me, but he would have if I hadn't left home when I did. My dad died when I was a kid and my uncle moved in to help my mum. He seemed to think I was the entertainment. I tried telling my mum, but she didn't believe me. I went to live with a friend when I was sixteen."

"Shit." I shook my head. "That's awful."

"Yeah, well, it was a long time ago. It could have been worse. So, the last thing I wanted then was a boyfriend. I wanted to go to school and then nursing college. Petter and I were perfect for each other. No guy dared come sniffing around me once he joined the Mobsters, and it never occurred to anyone that he was gay because I was always on his arm. How did you meet him? Well, I mean, how did you end up getting together? I thought you hated each other. You did some pretty lousy things to him."

I groaned. "I'm sorry. I know I did, and I'll never forgive myself for it."

"We've been over that. That wasn't what I meant. I mean, how did you get from enemies to this?"

"He didn't tell you anything?"

"No, only that he was seeing someone. I had no clue it was you until you and Christian turned up with him a couple of days ago. He told me nothing, other than that he found someone he wanted to be with. I could tell it was serious from how he was acting. I'd never seen him like that. He seemed really happy."

I smiled. "That's good to know. I'm not going to go into how it started. Only that I talked to him because one of his guys hurt a girl who worked in our restaurant."

"I remember." Monica nodded. "It was Erik. He got what he deserved. Is the girl okay?"

"Yes. Anyway, I tried to talk myself out of starting anything, but I guess sometimes you just can't help yourself. There was something about him."

Monica snorted. "So, basically you couldn't keep your hands off."

"Oh God."

"Don't be so uptight."

"I just feel weird talking to my lover's wife about him."

"Then think of him as my friend. I'm only his wife on paper."

I nodded. "What will you do in Miami?"

"As soon as we find somewhere to live and a school for the kids, I'll get work. I'm sure one of the hospitals will take me. If not, mobile nursing maybe. It shouldn't be that difficult."

We talked about plans for the immediate future until the plane began its descent to Miami and the seatbelt signs went on. As soon as we disembarked, we joined Petter and the kids, collected our bags, and found a taxi to take us to a hotel. I booked rooms for a couple of days to give us the opportunity to look for accommodation and decide what we would do.

Petter was exhausted from the journey and crashed out in the hotel room he was to share with me. I took Monica and the kids out to get some food and brought back snacks for Petter when he woke up. While we were out, we looked at real estate and found several suitable properties available to buy which were already vacant, and several to rent. There were plenty of options.

"That one is perfect." Monica pointed at a three-bedroom bungalow with a swimming pool pictured in the window of a real estate office. It was priced at $150,000. "Per and Oscar would love the pool. We have about enough to buy it and still set up a bike shop or something."

I glanced around and spotted Per and Oscar staring through the window of the next store a few metres away. It sold toys and games, and they weren't paying any attention to us. "Monica, I want you to promise me something. If you ever want for anything and you're short, please ask."

"What are you saying?"

"Just that. You wouldn't have had to leave everything behind if it wasn't for me. Don't do without because of that. I'm not being smug, but from what you've said, I have a lot more offshore than you do."

"Thank you." She nodded. "Petter would never ask. He's too proud."

"I know. That's why I'm telling you." I pointed at the property with the pool again. "So, you like that one? They're open. You could go in and make an appointment to see it?"

She grinned. "I guess I could. Will you watch the boys?"

"No problem." I walked along to the toy shop window, where Per and Oscar were gazing longingly and a pair of radio-controlled racing cars. "Your mum's busy for a few minutes. Shall we go in and look properly?"

"Yeah!" Per headed for the door, with Oscar hurrying behind. I followed.

Inside the store was a demonstration model of one of the cars, and the boys were able to take turns driving it around a small area surrounded by a little rubber wall.

"Do you think Dad will get me one for my birthday?" Oscar asked Per.

"Maybe."

"When's your birthday?" I asked the little boy.

"It's, um, next week?"

"It's the week after next," Per said. "He's five."

"And when's your birthday?"

"I was nine two days ago, but Dad was sick, and Mum must have forgotten. I didn't want to make them feel bad, so I didn't say anything. I know there was a present back home in Dad's wardrobe, all wrapped up. I guess they couldn't bring it." He sighed. "It doesn't matter. They have both been having a hard time lately. Maybe we can go to Disney World and make up for it."

"That's pretty mature of you," I said. "Why don't you pick two of these cars off the shelf, and I'll get them for you? A birthday present each. How about that?"

"Wow! Thanks, Alex!" Per turned around and much to my surprise, threw himself at me and gave me a hug. He pulled away just as quickly and grabbed Oscar. "Did you hear that? Alex is going to get you a car for your birthday, and one for mine. What colour do you like?"

Oscar selected a yellow Camaro with black racing stripes and announced it looked just like Bumblebee. I assumed that must be a car character in a kids' TV show. Per chose a blue car, and I paid for them on one of my new, as yet unused credit cards. When we emerged from the store, Monica was standing outside with her hands on her hips.

"Now, boys," she began, shaking her head.

"Birthday presents," I explained. "I insisted. They didn't ask."

"That's very nice of you, Alex. I feel awful that we forgot Per's birthday. You know why. Just don't let them take you for a ride. They can be very manipulative when they want something."

I winked. "So can I. Did you make an appointment to see the house?"

"Yes, tomorrow. Let's get back to the hotel. Petter will be wondering where we've got to."

"I can't wait to show Dad my car!" Oscar exclaimed, clutching the precious bag in both arms.

"Did you ever want kids?" Monica asked me as we walked to the hotel.

"I can't say I really thought about it. I didn't think it would ever be a possibility. I never saw myself settling down with anyone."

"Well, if you're planning on spending your life with Petter, you'll be stuck with these two."

"I don't mind that at all."


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Monica finds a house for her and the children and Davor finds a restaurant and apartment. Petter has apparently found a business and a home, but Davor isn't convinced everything is as it should be.

Petter was awake when I got back to the hotel room and had just got out of the shower.

"Want something to eat?" I indicated the bag of food I'd put on the table in the corner.

"Yeah." He opened the bag and found a sandwich. "What have you been doing?"

"Monica found a house she likes. She's going to see it tomorrow."

He nodded. "I should go too."

"I can watch the boys if you want."

"You'd do that?"

"Sure. I think I have fans there. I bought them radio-controlled cars."

Petter groaned. "Don't let them take the piss."

"Don't worry, I won't. They were kind of birthday presents anyway."

"Oh fuck." He groaned again. "We forgot Per's birthday."

"I know, he told me. He's a smart kid. He didn't want you to worry about it."

"I'll get him something extra special as soon as we get settled. And for Oscar, too. It's his birthday in a couple of weeks."

"I think a day at Disney World will do it." I gave his shoulder a squeeze. "How are you feeling?"

"About a hundred times better than when we left Oslo."

"Good."

"Did you find anywhere you fancy living?"

"I didn't really look. I will tomorrow. I want to check out the opportunities for a restaurant, too."

"How much is this house Monica likes?" he asked suddenly. "Do you know?"

"A hundred and fifty thousand. It has a pool."

He frowned a little, then smiled. "Then they should have it."

"She says there'll be enough money left for you to set up a business."

"Yeah, we have about a quarter of a million in US dollars. There was a lot more back home, but it was in cash. I had to leave it for the gang."

"We'll be okay."

"Yeah, unless we end up getting kicked out in a few months' time." His brow wrinkled more. "I didn't really think about that when I suggested coming here."

"I already looked into it. Monica will be fine as a nurse. If we own businesses and employ locals, we'll be fine, too. They're more concerned if you turn up penniless and try to live off welfare."

"Okay." He pushed the half-eaten sandwich aside and went to the minibar instead. He seemed tense and I wondered if he was worried about our situation. I was confident things would work out, but he'd never had to do this—never even been out of his own country. "I'm going out for a while." He put on his boots and checked he had his wallet.

"You want company?"

He shook his head. "I'll see you later."

Petter was gone for the rest of the afternoon, and only returned when things had closed for the day. I killed some time using a computer in the hotel lounge to search for restaurant opportunities and found a failing pizzeria for sale as a going concern. It appeared to be in a nice part of the city and included accommodation in the form of a large apartment above it. It seemed ideal and I'd already had a conversation with the agent, who admitted that the owners were bankrupt due to the high rates for the property, and their lack of business knowledge. I planned to visit it the next day.

"Sounds good," was all Petter said when I told him about it. He didn't seem very interested.

"Did you find anything?" I asked him.

"A few ideas." He shrugged and sat down on the bed. "I'll be glad to get out of here."

"The hotel?"

"Yeah. It's throwing money down the toilet."

"It's just a few days. We can rent somewhere if we have to, until we get set up with something more permanent."

"I guess." He picked up the remote control and switched on the TV.

We didn't talk much through the evening. Petter didn't want to go out again, so Monica took the boys out to eat and I collected food from a nearby restaurant to have in the room. When we went to bed, he stripped down to his underwear and lay on his side facing me but didn't make any attempt to touch me. I moved closer to him and slid my arm around him. He didn't respond at first, but then he pressed against me and kissed my neck.

"I'm sorry I'm lousy company."

"You're not. I get it. You've been through a lot." I nuzzled his ear and stroked his back. It felt good holding him. For once I didn't immediately get hard but just enjoyed the closeness. Eventually, we drifted into sleep.

When I woke it was daylight and Petter was gone from the bed. I glanced at the watch I still wore and realised it was after nine. I sat up and rubbed a hand over my face, still tired. Jetlag had caught up with me. I assumed Petter was in the bathroom as the door was closed, but no sound came from within. I waited a few minutes, then tapped on the door and opened it, but the room was empty. He had gone out without even waking me to let me know.

I made use of the bathroom and got dressed, then made some coffee. There was leftover food from the previous day, and I ate some of it. I was about to head to Monica's room when she arrived at my door with Per and Oscar, each with their new cars clutched in their arms.

"Where's Dad?" Per asked, looking around the room.

"He went out," I said. "He said he would look at business opportunities today. Monica, are you going to see the house now?"

"Yes, I'll probably be a couple of hours. Is that okay?"

"No problem."

When she had left, we played with the cars for a while, then watched some TV. Per found a programme called Transformers and I quickly learned that Bumblebee was a robot from outer space that could turn into a car like the one Oscar had chosen in the toy shop.

Monica returned just before lunch with a bag of food and a huge smile on her face. "The house is amazing," she said. "I need to talk to Petter before I put down a deposit. Have you heard from him?"

"Not yet." I realised we should all think about getting new phones. I had no way of contacting Petter and had no idea where he was.

Monica took Per and Oscar back to their room. I waited another hour, then wrote a note and left it on the bed for Petter, before I went to look at the restaurant. It needed some work, but it would be ideal for me to start with. The apartment above was large, had two bedrooms, and would suit my purposes perfectly. I didn't hesitate and offered the asking price to the agent. By the end of the day, I had signed some papers and paid a deposit. It would take a few weeks to sort everything out, but the agent advised I would be welcome to move into the apartment as soon as I liked, as the previous owner had already left. A manager was running the restaurant pending a new owner taking over, and the agent confirmed he would introduce me to the manager and staff at the end of the week.

When I got back to the hotel, Petter was in the room with his bag packed.

"Where are you going?" I asked.

"I found an apartment and a garage. The apartment is ready now."

"That was fast."

"I didn't want to waste any more time staying here. How did you go with the restaurant?"

"I bought it. I can move into the apartment straight away."

"That's good. I'll come over and check it out when you get there."

"Have you seen Monica?"

"Yeah." He nodded. "She's buying the house. I told her to go ahead and put the deposit down. She's renting a cheap apartment for a couple of months until the house is ready."

"That's good. It sounded perfect with the pool and everything. Where's the garage you found?"

"Other side of town."

It almost seemed like we were strangers as Petter told me a little about a bike garage, small but with a good customer base. He was vague and didn't meet my eyes, and I got the feeling he wasn't being completely honest. He seemed keen to get away from me and when he put on his boots and picked up his bag, I began to worry. I stopped him at the door.

"You're not going to kiss me or anything?"

"Of course. I'm just tired. The last few days have been shit, and the jetlag and everything." He dropped the bag again and wrapped his arms around me. I hugged him and his arms tightened more. "I love you," he whispered.

"I love you, too. Come and see me tomorrow, okay? I'll be here until eleven tomorrow. Maybe you could come and see the apartment with me."

"All right."

"I'll get a phone, too. If we're all living in different places, we need to be able to keep in touch."

"Yeah." Petter hugged me tighter still and pressed his face into my neck. "See you soon." Then he pulled away and was gone, the door closing firmly behind him.


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Davor and Petter enjoy a few hours together, and Davor buys a new car

I was a little upset that Petter chose to go straight to his new place rather than spend the last night in the hotel with me. I didn't sleep well, and I rose early to take a long shower. I was convinced Petter wouldn't come over as we'd discussed, but I was just making coffee when there was a tap on the door. I opened it and found him outside, wearing a long-sleeved tee shirt and jeans. He still wore long sleeves to cover the stitches, which no longer needed a dressing.

"Hey!" I wrapped an arm around his neck and kissed him as I tugged him into the room. He pushed the door closed and kissed me back enthusiastically.

"Sorry I was off yesterday," he said. "I just needed some time on my own. Can I have some coffee? I haven't bought any supplies yet and I didn't bother stopping off to get any on the way here."

"Sure." I gave him my cup of coffee and made another. "How'd you get here?"

"Bus."

"You should look for a new bike."

"I will when I have somewhere to keep one."

"What about your new garage?"

He nodded. "That's what I mean." He gulped the coffee and helped himself to a refill. When he'd finished that, he moved towards me again. "I haven't had much life in me for a while."

"And what about now?" I grinned and let my gaze slide down his body to the crotch of his tight jeans.

"Why don't you find out?"

I drew him into another kiss and our tongues slid against each other. I sighed with pleasure as my dick stiffened. It felt like an age since we'd been together properly. I steered us towards the bed, and we sank onto the tangled sheets. My thigh pressed between Petter's and I felt his erection straining against his fly. I ran my hand down his body and cupped it, giving him a light squeeze. He groaned into my mouth and slid his hand between us to unbutton his jeans, then unzip my trousers. I pried myself off him for a minute and quickly shed my clothes, then helped him get rid of his. I didn't want a quick fumble—I wanted to be naked with him. He tossed his tee shirt across the room, and it reminded me of the day when we hadn't known each other that well, when he'd been about to leave my apartment and hadn't been able to. He came back to my bed, tossed his tee shirt across the room, and kissed me as if his life depended on it. It was the first time I knew he felt something for me.

"Come here." I pulled him down against me, his thighs either side of mine. "I've missed this."

"Me too. Where's your lube?"

"In the bag next to the bed."

Petter reached over the side of the bed and found the tube. His erection bobbed in front of him, bumping mine as he leaned down. I grasped him and stroked firmly until he leaked into my palm. Groaning, he pushed my hand off. "Don't, or I'll come before we get to do anything."

I released him and took the lube from him. He made to get off me, but I placed my free hand on his thigh. "Stay there." He looked so good with his thighs spread around me, the muscles taut, his balls resting against mine and his dick quivering above my stomach. I lifted my gaze and took in every inch of his chest and arms, and his gorgeous face.

He laughed and avoided my eyes. "Are you just going to look at me?"

"I love looking at you. You're fucking sexy, Petter." I opened the lube and squeezed some onto my fingers, then reached around him and brushed them down the crack of his arse. He shivered and leaned forward, resting his hands either side of me. When I pressed a finger in, we both groaned.

I took my time stretching him, until his dick was leaking onto my belly and he pulled my fingers out of him in frustration. "That's enough. Fuck me, will you?"

I grinned up at him. "Demanding, aren't you?" I pushed myself up, rolled him off me, and grabbed the lube again to slick myself up. "I missed this."

"Me too." His eyes clouded for a second, but he blinked, and the look was gone.

"You okay?"

"Yeah. Come here." He pulled me down between his legs.

I guided myself in and moaned with pleasure at the feel of him. "Damn, you feel good."

It didn't last long, or at least I didn't. Within minutes I lost control and shot my load in him, but I didn't lose my erection. I stayed in him and jerked him off. When he finished, I withdrew slowly and peppered his face with kisses until he laughed and pushed me away.

"Shower?" I suggested, realising the half hour I'd spent in there earlier had been pointless.

Petter smiled and got to his feet. "That mean you're going to help me wash?"

"I suppose I could scrub your back," I teased.

He stood in the shower stall with his hands behind his head, the muscles in his arms and shoulders bulging, as I filled my hands with shower gel and soaped him up. The shower took longer than the one I'd had alone, as I was repeatedly distracted from my task by needing to kiss him, or caress his muscles, and eventually jerk him off again. He took his turn afterwards, washing my body and making me come again. Any worries I'd had during the past couple of days left me.

I checked out of the hotel an hour later, and Petter came with me in the taxi to my new apartment above the restaurant. It was partly furnished so I didn't need to think about buying furniture for it straight away. I did need bedding and some kitchen things, however, and I wanted to get a car as soon as possible. Petter accompanied me to a furnishing store and helped me carry back bags full of sheets and pillowcases, towels, toiletries, crockery and cutlery, and some groceries. I thought of making us a meal to eat together, but he had things to do and left me again in the early afternoon.

Again, I found myself disappointed. We'd agreed we weren't going to live together in the beginning, and before everything went wrong in Stockholm, we hadn't seen each other that often. But after everything that had happened and the last few days staying in hotels and travelling together, I'd grown used to having him with me all the time. I hadn't expected to feel quite so bereft when he walked away, but I didn't say anything about it. I expected he had his own work to do with his garage. I'd asked him about it, but he hadn't said much. When I thought about it, I realised he'd changed the subject every time I mentioned it and distracted me with comments about what I was buying.

I made up my new bed with the black satin sheets I'd bought, put away the things in the kitchen, then headed out again. I'd hoped Petter would spend longer with me and help me choose a new car, but now I decided to look at some by myself. I took a taxi to the Chevrolet dealership and spent the rest of the afternoon with one of their salesmen, test-driving and choosing one of the most impractical cars I'd ever owned—the Camaro. The rear seats were tiny, there wasn't a lot of boot space, and the 6.2 litre V8 engine would guzzle fuel, but I liked it and Petter's boys would love the design. I chose yellow with black racing stripes and imagined their delight when they got to go for a ride in Bumblebee. The showroom had one available and because I was able to pay the asking price in full, didn't require any modifications to the stock model, and had hours to wait around, I was able to take it away just before the store closed.

I went for a quick drive, but the sun was already setting, and it was too late in the day to go to Monica's apartment to show Per and Oscar, so I decided to save that for another day and headed back to my new home. A small, gated yard behind the restaurant offered a secure place to park "Bumblebee" and the car came fitted with an immobiliser and an extremely loud alarm, so I was reasonably confident it would be safe.

I cooked for myself that night, then went to bed. I didn't yet have a TV or anything to listen to music on, and I still hadn't sorted out a new phone. Lying alone in the satin sheets, I missed Petter more than ever. I was used to having things whenever I wanted them and doing without or having to wait irritated me. I wanted him now and I couldn't even talk to him on the phone. I began wishing away the next few weeks of my life and eventually fell into a fitful sleep.


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Davor takes Monica and the kids out for a drive and lunch, but things with Petter aren't going well

The next day I finally got around to buying a new Smartphone. With no other way of getting in touch with Petter or Monica, I drove around to Monica's apartment, but no one was home. I wrote a note with my number on it and left it in her mailbox. I guessed she was busy. She would be looking for a job and trying to get Per into a school. I had no idea where to find Petter and although I began searching for motorcycle garages on the Internet, I decided not to drive around looking. It would make me feel like a stalker. He knew where to find me.

It was two days before I saw any of them. Monica sent me a text that evening letting me know the number of her new phone. She'd applied for a place in a school for Per and hopefully he would be starting there the following week. She told me two suitable positions were open in a hospital, too, and she had submitted her resume for both.

I didn't hear anything from Petter. I spent the next day trying to do something useful, such as planning what to do with the restaurant, but he was on my mind the whole time. I tried telling myself nothing was wrong. We'd had great sex and I shouldn't expect him to be in touch with me every day. He hadn't been in Stockholm—why would he now? But it still bothered me. The next day I got angry with myself for moping around. It wasn't like me and I let my irritation turn towards him instead. If he wanted to get in touch with me, great. If he didn't, fuck him.

The day after that, Monica brought the boys around to see my new place. She liked the apartment, and the boys liked the sixty-inch plasma TV I'd installed just that morning.

"Have you heard back from the school and the hospital?" I asked her.

"Yes to both. Per has a place starting Monday. I have an interview for one of the jobs on Wednesday. Wish me luck."

"Good luck, but I'm sure you won't need it. Are you busy right now?"

"Not really. I need to get some groceries."

"I have a new car. Fancy a spin? I think some people might like my choice." I tilted my head in the direction of Per and Oscar who were flicking through the hundreds of TV channels I had.

"Okay. How did you get a car so fast?"

"I had time to kill. I went to the showroom, chose one, and sat around waiting while they got it ready for me."

"And I bet you flashing your cash around had something to do with that." She smiled. "Come on, what did you get? BMW? Audi?"

"No. Something more fun." I grabbed my keys and wallet. "Per, Oscar, you want to go for a ride in my new car?"

"Do we have to?" Per looked up and wrinkled his nose. "This TV is awesome."

"You can watch the TV some other time. I promise you'll like my car."

"Okay." Reluctantly, he switched off the TV and got up. Oscar followed. I smirked to myself as we left the apartment and walked around the back to the yard.

"Oh my God," Monica said and rolled her eyes when she saw the bright yellow Camaro. "You know you'll never get rid of them now."

"It's Bumblebee!" Per yelled. He and Oscar rushed into the yard and began examining ever inch of the car, from its headlights to its wheels and its fat tail pipes. I pressed the remote control for the doors so they could open them and get in.

"What can I say? I'm a child at heart," I said.

"I never would have thought it of you." Monica glanced up at me. "You seem different to when we first met you."

"I suppose I am different."

"Have you heard from Petter?" she asked then.

"No. Have you?"

She shook her head. "Something's going on with him. I can't figure out what. Did you fight?"

"No. He came over to see me a few days ago. Things were great. But he was cagey. He wouldn't tell me anything about his garage or the apartment he said he found. I don't have a phone number for him either."

"Me neither. It's not like him. He's always been quiet but not secretive, and I wouldn't have thought he'd stay away from the kids."

So, it wasn't just me. Petter was keeping his distance from his family, too. "I thought about trying to find this garage he's after, but I don't want to act like a stalker. I guess we'll have to be patient. He may still be shaken up over what happened. I can't imagine being in that position."

"You mean his only option to save us being to kill himself?" Monica shuddered and wrapped her arms around herself. "I was thinking the same thing. It tears me up, imagining how he must have felt."

"Hey, come on." I squeezed her shoulder and gave her a shake. "I'm sure he'll be fine."

"Yeah."

"Come on, Alex!" Per yelled then. "We want to go for a ride!"

"All right, let's do it."

Per helped Oscar fasten his seatbelt in the back, then climbed into the other seat. Monica slid into the passenger seat. "Hell, it's low. I feel like I'm sitting on the ground."

"Bit different from your Honda." I grinned. "Bit different from my Audi, too." I hurried around the other side and climbed into the driver's seat. When I started the engine, Per and Oscar both shouted in excitement.

I drove out of the city and along a coast road for an hour, until Per announced that Oscar needed to stop for a pee. A mile farther on was a diner on the beach and I pulled into the carpark.

"You want some lunch?" I offered Monica, as the boys headed for the toilets.

"Are you sure? We don't want to take up all your time."

"It's fine. I'm enjoying myself."

"Okay, then. But I'll pay. You're going to so much trouble."

"No, you won't," I said firmly. "What kind of man would I be to take a woman and her kids out for lunch and let her pay?" I rolled my eyes. "Come on, Monica. I can be a gentleman occasionally."

She laughed. "Okay, okay, you can pay. You know, you're getting dangerously close to me liking you."

"I'm doing my best."

We ate burgers and fries, followed by ice-cream sundaes. Then I drove Monica and the boys back to their apartment and returned to my own. I spent the rest of the day alone, working on ideas for the restaurant and wishing things would happen faster so I could have the keys in my hand and start doing something instead of just planning.

Another night and day passed, and I didn't see or hear from Petter. I tried not to be pissed at him, but I couldn't help it. I longed to see him, and it seemed as if that feeling wasn't returned. No amount of reminding myself about the last time I saw him and the number of times he said he loved me helped me shake off the feeling that things were going wrong.

I finished eating the food I made myself that evening and switched on the TV. I flicked idly through the channels with nothing catching my attention. Then my phone rang. It wasn't Monica's number—I'd saved that in my contacts.

"Yeah?" I answered.

"Hey. It's Petter."

My heart jumped. "How did you get my number?" I demanded, when I really wanted to say, "I was hoping you would get in touch."

"Uh, from Monica."

"Of course." I paused, wondering what to say to him. "I saw them a couple of days ago."

"She told me. You got a Camaro?"

"I think the boys' love of Bumblebee might have influenced me."

"Well, you have the money." He sounded bitter. "What's happening with the restaurant?"

"I'm waiting to get the keys. A few more days. I've been looking into options for it. I think I'll keep it as a pizzeria for now but change the decorations and some other stuff. When do you take over the garage?"

"Um, next week."

"Where are you? Your apartment?"

"Yes."

"Where is it? I could come over."

"It's not really a good time. It's been a long day. I feel pretty shitty."

Anxiety gnawed at my gut. "You don't want to see me?"

"Of course I want to see you, Davor. I just need a shower and some rest."

"I—" I stopped myself before I said, "I miss you." He sounded like he didn't want to hear it, or maybe it was my imagination. Perhaps he would want to know I was thinking about him, but on the other hand, he might see it as me pressuring him. I huffed out a breath and pinched the bridge of my nose. "I'll call you tomorrow now I have your number."

"Okay. That'd be good."

"Goodnight, Petter." I hung up and tossed the phone aside. Damn it. And I still didn't know where he lived.


End file.
